#Whilemina venable

[january31st]

In tune (Venable x reader): Chapter one

Summary: you arrive at the outpost and try to be the one to lighten the mood by making dumb jokes and playing the piano/singing, and accidentally get Ms. Venable’s attention.

A/N: this whole fic started because i saw the piano hidden away near the door in the music room in one of the first episodes, and then when Stevie Nicks sang later on i actually was so happy to confirm that it was in fact, a piano.

This has been sitting in my drafts for too long, maybe if i publish the first chapter i might feel forced to write the rest? 

Warnings: Nothing too interesting happens in this chapter when it comes to Venable, i really got carried away with context and writing bullshit? Other than that if you think i should add other warnings please do feel free to say it

|| Masterlist || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 ||

~2200 words

 Ever since you were a kid you managed to get yourself into the strangest situations, and they always seemed to outdo each other. About now you were starting to think you reached the peak of life experiences, after the apocalypse what else was there for you to see?

When the end came you weren’t too phased. You just watched things happen to you and accepted them, not that there was anything else you could do. But you didn’t panic. You didn’t cry for your lost life. There wasn’t much to lose either way. 

You met Timothy eventually. You had time to think about all of these questions he kept asking you, but you didn’t really. For the most part you were numb. You knew he was trying to get to know you, given that you were in this situation together for a reason, and sure, you talked to him, you cracked a few jokes to ease the tension. You told him a bit about your life in the past year or so, and listened to his and to his plans for the future studying at UCLA. 

After some time you came to understand that you two were supposed to be some sort of modern Adam and Eve, the new beginning to humanity. The both of you were told about your perfect DNA, and that just magnified the voice inside you saying that this was a big mistake. You didn’t say anything about it because this was the only reason you were alive, but deep down you knew this was wrong. You were sitting in someone else’s spot. 

Sometimes you would look at Timothy and feel like there was a rock sitting in your stomach. He was good looking, sure, for a guy. But that was just the problem. You never had any actual relationships, you always distanced yourself from people. You did feel attractions, you did feel love, but not for men. You didn’t hate kids, but also didn’t want to have any. Especially not now with this guy you were stuck to. You also didn’t hate him. None of this was his fault, so you pushed the thought aside for the most part.

Two weeks later you were sent to Outpost 3, and soon enough you met the person in charge. Wilhemina Venable and her perfect everything. She showed you to your rooms and explained the purple-gray hierarchy, and at that you heard that voice again, telling you this was wrong, surviving And also being part of “the elite”?

Timothy asked a few questions, and you almost shivered at the tone in her voice. Very determined and void of emotions. You understood the sureness of everything she said and it didn’t leave any space for you to answer or question. You didn’t have anything to say really. You weren’t that interested in the logistics of this whole thing. If you started thinking about it you knew it would be hard to stop.

“The house rules are simple. You will refer to me only as Ms. Venable.” she said, looking straight into your eyes. She also said something about not leaving the building, not that you were planning on running away any time soon. The ice in her demeanour was impressive, you wondered for a second if her makeup and hair had looked this perfect when the bombs fell. If her outfit looked as crisp and if the grip on her cane was as strong, or if she was holding the cane at all. You could have assumed it was just an accessory, it didn’t look out of place on the hand of someone as elegant as her, but something told you otherwise.

You must have looked spaced out because Timothy was staring at you. She raised her voice just a bit, adding  “No unauthorised copulation of any kind, under any circumstances.” And at that you felt that rock get a bit less heavy, relieved you wouldn’t be forced into it at least for now.

“The two grays you saw on the way in should work as a reminder” 

Sure you were happy with the rule, but not everyone would, and it made you a bit uneasy to think about the tension that would form after a while. Killing people for it felt unnecessary and if there were other purples you knew there would be complaining to be heard. Just something else to look forward to!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the first week there you mostly listened to the other purples blabber on about their lives, and all the things they didn’t get to do and all the money they didn’t get to spend on all these useless things. There was arguing all the time, no one seemed to agree on anything except all of what they lost, and pitying themselves for the situation they were in. You appreciated Dinah’s attempts at motivating everyone and keeping a positive mindset, but all of those empty words fell flat. 

One day (or night? Or afternoon? You weren’t sure) everyone was sitting in the music room, purples in the couches, Mallory sitting on the floor next to Coco, some grays standing around and Venable at the farthest table seat from you, reading a book. You could sense the silence wouldn’t last long. It was only a matter of time until Mr. Gallant started complaining about the song playing on repeat, but before he could, you tried something.

“Let’s say we had a cat at the outpost”

Everyone looked at you curiously, a cat? Why would there be a cat?

“What would you guys name it?”

Coco looked at you as if you had just offended her family name “I don’t know why or how you plan to get a cat in here. Have you lost your mind Y/N?”

You chuckled at that “I don’t want a cat, it’s just a question, to get our heads away from the whole apocalypse thing”

She made a face at the stupidity of your question “I don’t know, probably Oscar or Felix or something”

“Ugh Coco don’t be basic. You know, I would name it Rip Taylor, or Larry Kramer. Or any of the great gay radicals of the 70’s and 80’s” Gallant said gettig more exited about the question.

Andre said “Judas, or Alejandro. Cats are traitors”

Gallant smirked “I see what you did there” 

Evie leaned forward, cup swaying in her hand “I don’t know about cats but I quite like poodles. Maybe even a greyhound. I would name him Mr. Chandon. After the champagne of course”

“My grandma had a cat, she was called Pumpkin.” said Timothy.

Coco scoffed “Let me guess, was she orange? How original”

“Actually she was white” he answered with a malicious smile.

Coco tried to change the attention from that interaction “Alright, Y/N you asked the question and you haven’t answered it yet. What would you name it?” 

You gathered everything in you to make a serious face. You waited for a bit until everyone had their eyes on you and answered “Fish.”

At that the room erupted with laughter, after a minute or so you wiped your eyes so that your makeup wouldn’t get ruined, your cheeks already hurting. You managed to straighten up a bit and looked across the room to Venable. You’d imagine she would call you all dumb and set a new rule that kept everyone from laughing, but instead she just looked at you with her eyes slighly narrowed, the rest of her face covered by the book.

“How about puppy?” Mallory said. Everyone laughed even harder.

Your voice was now high pitched, you struggled to get the words out all at once "You see… that's a great one, but i think Bark is even better" 

"Come here Bark" said Andre, laughing harder still and slapping his knee.

You knew this would make you look stupid, because it was. But still you welcomed a laugh after all this time, and only something this dumb would work. 

After that you took it upon yourself to keep people entertained. You wouldn't let your fears show in front of all these fancy people, especially not Venable. It would be much better if they thought you were funny and light hearted than to find out about the monsters you kept sitting in your room.

You knew she could crush you with a finger anytime, and you found yourself thinking about her way more than you should. Was it her looks? Was it the attitude? You had always been one to look in wonder at the strong confident women you met throughout your life. But you also convinced yourself you didn't need anyone. 

The things you had lived through were more than enough to confirm it. You always managed to figure things out on your own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the third week you understood Mr. Gallant’s annoyance at the song constantly playing, even though you only had to assemble in the music room for the “Cocktails” once a day. Everyone was thankful about how oddly soundproof that room was, you couldn’t hear a thing down the corridor, and for that reason it would be mostly empty for the rest of the day. 

Despite that annoyance about the song, you still spent quite some time there. Ever since you stepped into the room for the first time, the shelves completely lined with books called out to you. For a while, the free time you didn’t spend reading, you spent hovering about the shelves, registering the titles and reading the synopsis for the ones you didn’t recognise.

The other thing about the room that called out to you was the piano, just sitting abandoned. It would probably get very dusty if not for the greys who had to keep the outpost spotless. You were surprised no one had played anything yet, after all, you were stuck with a bunch of rich people, and in your head every rich person had piano classes when they were little. At least that was the type of rich person you always wanted to be.

You had been anything but rich before the apocalypse, but you did know some music theory. You were a band kid and played classical guitar since you were little, and you found yourself thinking about how lucky you were that your mom put you in those classes. Music did become a very important aspect of your life very fast, always the thing you could use to escape, to soothe whatever mood you found yourself in. The end of the world, of course, couldn’t come without irony, and the one thing that used to keep you sane was starting to have the opposite effect.

Piano was most definitely not your instrument. You loved to listen to it, but to play anything you needed a lot of practise. Still, by now you wanted anything to drown out the voice calling the occupants of interplanetary craft, so every now and then you would try to go by ear on the chords for a pop song you remembered, and mess around with it until some other purple entered the room.

One evening during the Cocktail hour Coco asked you to play something. “We all know you can play, just please, I’m so sick of this song” She said looking at the radio with a disgusted look on her face.

“Ehrm, I don’t actually know any piece all the way through. Piano isn’t really my instrument so most of the music I remember would also not sound right.”

“You don’t know it all the way through, but that means you know at least a little something. Go on darling don't be shy” Evie said, and you couldn’t help but feel uneasy playing in front of these fancy people. 

You sat down on it’s large bench, you wanted to at least try something classical, to try and show them that you weren’t absolutely uncultured. Choosing Moonlight Sonata might have been predictable, but at least it wasn’t Fur Elise. The first movement was all you could remember, but it was the piece you knew the best. In the end you were met with applause, to your surprise.

“Ah splendid! I had no idea poor people even knew about Beethoven!” Evie was certainly one for theatrics, the way she overreacted made you giggle, almost letting you forget the shakiness in your hands.

“Play something you can sing to, I heard you sing before, you have a lovely voice” Timothy said with a big smile, and you realised just then how that sounded. When did he even hear you sing? By the way Coco and Gallant looked at eachother you could tell they had gossiped about you before, and the thought that the whole outpost might be thinking about it too made you want to puke. 

To hide your discomfort you started playing the first song you could think of, and while you played the only thought on your mind was Ms. Venable. What if she thought you and Timothy had a thing? Would she kill you both without even hearing you out? Somehow that wasn’t the part that disturbed you the most, though you couldn’t quite understand what was. She didn’t hang around the music room much during the day, and when she did she would either hide behind a book or have an argument with someone and leave. Right now you hoped she wasn’t even looking at you and didn’t hear the tone of what he said.

if you want to be added to a taglist for this series, feel free to reach out in whatever way you prefer :)

[freyas-wife]

Ally: What's the last thing the fruit farmer said to you before he disappeared.

Me:*sobbing* he said dis an apple, dis an orange and then he said Dis a pear....oh god....

Cordelia: Damn he really is gone..

Ally: I'll let his family know

Me: Thank you. Your a peach

Ally: Your berry welcome ma'am

Cordelia: This worlds gone Bananas

Me: where did that mango?..

Whilemina: It's 2am! Shut the fuck up!

[ecclais-fouoras]

Softer on the inside

Chapter 4 : " bleeding"

Ch2/3 here

WARNING ⚠️: PERIOD and smut

Also quick mention of being sterile so if you're unconfortable with any of this feel free to leave

It was always known that women would be in the outpost, so : the co-operative provided for their protections, they braucht Tampons, Pads, And even a few cups.

But you'd been there for a long time and well, the outpost was running low on the disposable ones. You didn't have period anymore, wilhemina knew that, since she noticed after a few months you didn't go through the stash, but she knew better to ask you anything. For all she knew you could have been born with a condition or something of that sort. You were both laying on her bed, she was reading a book in your arms and you were playing with her red hair, you heard her groan as she shifted slightly.

"Babe ?" You asked as your brows scrunched up

"Yes darling?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. Obviously" she replied coldly, her face expressionless. Wilhemina was still defensive when it came to her emotions, she rarely let herself be vulnerable around you.

Even though she was making efforts towards opening up, because you kept showing her you didn't have any bad intentions.

"Wilhemina...it's okay if you are not you know that ?" You whispered in her ear as you kissed her neck and held her more tightly. You pointed to the rest of your room

"I love you. Look around.. no one else is here, it's just us... nobody's going to make fun or judge you...what's going on sweetheart"

"I'm fi.." you cut her off before she could answer

"I swear if you tell me 'i'm fine' again"

"I..i"

"You know what .."

"Please don't be mad at me"

"No..honey I was going to ask you if I made suggestions and you just answered me yes or no it could be easier for you, if speaking is the issue"

"No it's okay..I'm just..it's nothing really...i just have period cramps and I..oh god this is embarrassing..., I couldn't...put the tampon on correctly, so it hurts to.."

"Was it the first time you used one of these?"

"...yes..i usually put pads but we have none left, and I can't put a cup on...b..because I can't bend down for it..."

"Oh..honey that's nothing to be embarrassed about. Besides I've been exactly where that's tampon is" you joked throwing her a wink.

"In all seriousness tho when did you put it on"

"Like an hour ago ? I thought the pain would stop but I already tried to put on like 3 of them and I only have 5 left. I don't know what I'm going to to y/n" you left your place behind her and went to the bathroom after

"Okay.. get up sweetie."

She was confused at your actions

"What ? Why?"

"I'm not gonna leave you in pain like this"

"But...wh..what ?"

"Just get yours right here"

"What ?"

"Your butt. Get it here..come on"

She finally complied and lead on her cane for support as she joined you in the bathroom.

"Take off your skirt and panties babe"

"What ? I will not.." you turned around and took her hands in yours thumbs caressing her skin.

"Sweetie, I'm not embarrassed by this. So you have no reason to be. I love you. Period blood is just regular blood and pieces of andrometriosis...let me do this for you, If there's something I can do to avoid you being in pain I will do it."

"..okay"

"Now I don't want to overstep your boundaries so if it's really something that makes you unconfortable we'll find another solution."

"No I'm going to try to trust you"

"Oh...mina...I'm not going to hurt you sweetie"

She started to undress from her bottoms, leaving her half naked. You told her to hop in the shower since it would be easier to manage and you asked if she'd be more comfortable if you were both fully naked  and took a shower. She nodded and you got ready with her guiding her when the water was warm enough.

You gently washed her before asking her if you could pull it out by the string to shower properly before going to bed.

After you were both all cleaned you slowly picked up the showerhead and set the flow so it landed on her lower stomach, guiding it down to her core. She moaned as it hit her clit, and you looked into her eyes before she breathed "please continue"

It was all you needed to kiss her lips and press her up against the tiles, lifting her leg up minding her back. You hand crept down further and you pushed two fingers inside her, the water still stimulating her. It didn't take her long for her to reach her climax and she shook against you before you turned off the water and let her rest in your arms. You dried her then yourself before wrapping both of you in towels. You went to reach a cup in the drawers before turning around seeing her face field with worry.

"I told you I can't put it on y/n"

"You don't have to bend down, and don't worry I'm going to put it in and show you how you can try"

"..oh okay"

"If it's fine with you of course"

"Yes"

You took her arms and slowly guided her down on her knees so her legs were parted and she didn't get hurt.

"Right..so try and kneel like this"

"Here ?"

"Yes. Now see you need to fold it like this, and then try to ease it in" you showed her and lean it next to her vulva.

"I..I'm going to be to tight y/n"

"You're too stressed, that's why. You need to relax, it's not going to hurt baby I'm right here."

"What if that's to big for me ?"

"Honey you have no trouble taking my three fingers in and they are much bigger that that cup."

She blushed heavily and you giggled.

"You know what, I think if you touch yourself while Putting it in it'll be easier"

"Really"

"Yes... Here"

You said before slowly teasing her clit with your fingers and kissing her neck biting it down.

Once you felt she was more relaxed you were able to find her vagina quicky and slowly pushed the cup inside before letting it go and hearing it pop when it was set right inside her.

"There all done..now to pull it out, you pinch and drag"

You said just as you did and got up to wash your bloody fingers.

"Hey don't worry about it, it's just blood, Now try it yourself"

And she did, after a few minutes of trying to figure it out, she got it in, and then out, and in again for it's final resting place.

"All set. See I knew you could do it"

"Thank you y/n. I wouldn't have been able to without you"

"No problem babe, now let's get to bed"

You both settled on the bed her arms draped over your belly, and yours around her shoulders to hold her close to you.

"Y/n ? Can I ask you something ?"

"Sure"

"I've noticed you don't get your periods why ?"

"Oh..well...I used to but a few years ago I had  an extra uterine pregnancy and they had to ligature both of my fallopian tubes. So I became sterile and I don't have any periods because I don't ovulate anymore."

"Oh..I'm so sorry darling..."

"It's okay It's probably better off that way, at least I didn't have to raise a kid when the world fell apart"

She nodded slightly and rested her head on your shoulder. You kissed her forehead before drifting off to try and sleep.

"I love you darling"

"Me too mina..me too"

A/n : yes I know you ain't suppose to wear a cup to sleep.

Sue me.

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

Morituri te salutant

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader x Cordelia Goode

Requested by anon: wilhemina falling in love with the reader during the apocalypse and having to watch the reader die in her arms bc of smth then tempus infinituum happened but for some reason wilhemina still remembers the reader and what happened, but the reader doesn’t and is now dating cordelia

A/N: thank you anon for this amazing plot idea. I changed a few things from your original idea as I wrote the story. I hope you’ll like it. x

Warnings: death (but no one stays dead), grief, mentions of blood, physical violence, self-harm, English isn’t my first language

Word count: ≈ 13 000

“Wait,” Wilhemina said, extending one arm in front of you.

You ignored her warning and peeked inside the room.

“He’s in here,” you whispered.”Mead’s already here, too.”

“Alright. Wait for me outside.”

“Mina –“

“That’s an order, Y/N,” she growled, low enough not to be heard by Michael.

You pursed your lips.”I’m coming with you,” you growled back. “It’s not negotiable. I’m not leaving you with him.”

Wilhemina shot you a look, opened her mouth to protest, but before she had time to speak you leaned in and kissed her slow and sweet. You felt her smile against your mouth. You hummed softly, nipped her lower lip. When you pulled away, you brushed the back of your hand down her cheek, gazing fondly into her eyes.

“I’m not leaving you,” you whispered.

She hesitated. Nodded. You gave her a smile, and together you stepped into the room.

Ms. Mead was standing by Michael’s desk, whispering words you could not hear. They both raised their heads when you entered. Ms. Mead met Wilhemina’s eyes and nodded almost imperceptibly.

You planted yourself at Wilhemina’s side like a faithful soldier. Your body was buzzing with fear and excitement. You shot Wilhemina a sideways glance. How did she always manage to keep her face so perfectly blank? If it hadn’t been for the fire in her eyes, she might have been mistaken for a marble statue.

She was a mystery. She was your mystery. You bit your lip to hold back a smile.

In a few minutes you would be free. Free to love her, free to build a new life with her and the foundations would be made of respect and tenderness and trust. The price to pay didn’t matter. This kind of love was worth everything.

Michael’s blond hair shone in the dim room. The flickering light from the candles licked his cheeks and sparkled in his eyes. He looked calm, content even. What a fool he was.

You had to force yourself not to jump up and down with impatience as Wilhemina and Michael exchanged a few, bitter remarks. You wanted to reach out and grab her hand. Instead you folded your arms on your chest and scowled defiantly at Michael.

He stood up from his desk with a small, nonchalant smile. Tried to tempt Wilhemina with promises. Did he know he was about to die? Could he feel it in his soul? Was he trying to win her over now? What a fool he was.

“Ms. Mead,” Wilhemina said.

You watched as the robot pointed her gun at Michael. You watched as the look in her eyes changed, as her face hardened, her hand started to shake.

“Ms. Mead,” Wilhemina repeated, annoyance laced in her voice. She turned to face her.

What was Mead waiting for? Your body felt like it was on fire. Energy was shooting through you and you wanted to jump, you wanted to run, you wanted to do something, anything, to release some of it. What on Earth was Mead waiting for? Shoot him, you ordered her in your head. Shoot him, and let us go. Let us start a new life that will be happy and hopeful.

Michael cocked his head and smiled. It seemed to you that from far away came the sound of a door being slammed shut. And then Ms. Mead’s hand moved and she pointed the gun at Wilhemina’s chest.

You didn’t think. Something in you screamed in absolute fear and terror. You jumped in front of Wilhemina just as Ms. Mead pressed the trigger. The bullet sank into your head right between your eyes.

There was a gasp, from Ms. Mead, an amused smile, from Michael. He crossed his hands behind his back and looked with interest as Wilhemina dropped to her knees by your side, her hands hovering over your head from which blood gushed like water from a fountain.

“Well,” Michael said slowly, “that was quite unexpected.”

Another door slammed. Louder, closer. Michael turned his head, frowning. He pondered for a second, then nodded at Ms. Mead in the direction of the door. They left the room.

Wilhemina sat by your side, waiting. The floor was cold, and the coldness seeped through her clothes and made her shiver, but she didn’t care. She would wait for you to wake up. Michael had left, which meant you had plenty of time. She would wait faithfully by your side.

It was a perfect plan, she thought. You and her, killing Michael, you and her, finding shelter in the Sanctuary and starting a new life. Ms. Mead would be under her command. She would make her way up to the top, as she always did. You would be proud of her. She would go about her days knowing she wasn’t alone anymore, wake up every morning with a light heart, go to sleep every night in your arms. Until one day it would be safe to go outside, and she would feel the breeze on her skin again and finally know what you looked like in the sun.

Oh, what a fine life.

She ran her fingers through your hair. The flickering light from the candles shone in your eyes.

She didn’t know how long she waited for you to wake up. You had been so tired, she reminded herself, had been too excited to get much sleep the night before – surely you needed a very long rest. But you would wake up soon.

She ran her fingers down your eyelids, peering down affectionately at you.

A loud noise in the distance made her jump. Her grip on you tightened protectively. She waited, listened carefully.

Voices. How could that be? Everyone was dead.

The voices sounded angry. She was pretty sure one of them was Michael’s.

Meaning he would come for you. He would come to finish his work. She had to find him first, she had to stop him and make sure he would never try to harm you again.

Carefully, she laid you down on the floor. She brushed your hair back from your face, stroked your cheek with the back of her hand just as you had done to her a few minutes before. “I’ll be right back, my love,” she whispered, offering you a fond smile.

She gazed at your face for two seconds more before she got up and walked towards the voices.

She couldn’t see very well. Was there a mist in the room? She raised one hand, touched her cheek.

Why was she crying?

“Please,” she said to the shapes she could barely make out behind the mist and in the trembling light of the candles. “Please, my girlfriend won’t wake up.”

That wasn’t what she had meant to say. A sob pushed out of her throat.

Why was she crying?

She crossed the room towards the shapes, extending her free hand, repeating, Please – in a voice that was so broken it couldn’t possibly be hers – please, why won’t she wake up?

Her body knew exactly why. Her body had turned cold and was aching and shaking and aching. Her chest was so painfully tight she could barely breathe, heart beating like crazy but feeling dead and there was rage, rage rising like bile in her throat and pain, pain because you were – shut up shut up shut up shut up! her mind screamed.

She tried to take one more step forward, stumbled. One of the shapes rushed towards her.

And it was getting harder to breathe, heart suffocating, heart trying to kill itself because it knew that – shut up!

She dropped her cane, pressed both hands against her ears and shook her head.

There was a voice, there was movement. There were two hands gently landing on her cheeks and then there was cooing, someone asking questions. She blinked to try and see better, but all there was to see was a spot of yellow like blond hair and two dots like dark eyes.

The face turned, but the hands never left her face. They brought her warmth.

“Mallory made it!” someone shouted gleefully “Delia, Mallory made it! She went back!”

A cry of rage. Michael.

Wilhemina’s knees buckled. The warmth on her cheeks disappeared as she hit the cold floor and curled in on herself and wailed. Please let him kill her. She was alone again.

Cold. Voices crying and voices celebrating and voices screaming. And then that spot of yellow again, mere inches from her face, and someone muttering something in a language she didn’t understand. She sobbed, and a voice, sweet as honey, cooed, “It’s alright, shh, it’s alright. I’ll find her for you, I promise,” and then Wilhemina closed her eyes, and gladly sank into the nothingness.

When she opened her eyes again there was light. The sky was a bright, deep blue. Birds were chirping in the trees. People were laughing.

People were laughing.

She turned around, wide eyes taking everything in. The young couple cuddling on the bench. The kids running and chasing each other and clinging to their parents’ legs for protection. The mother, rolling her eyes but reaching down to pat the little blond head affectionately.

What the hell… ?

Wilhemina stopped a man and asked him what was going on. He shot her a confused look, glanced at her cane, back up at her face and frowned and hurried away as if she were a mad woman. She gritted her teeth against the familiar bitter anger that rose in her throat. Scum, all of them.

Except you.

“Y/N?”

She turned around again, expecting to see you emerging from behind a tree, smiling at her, your arms extended for a hug. She looked on her left, on her right. Behind her, before her. You weren’t there.

“Y/N?”

She stopped another man, demanded to know what day it was. Her heart froze in her chest as she processed his answer. The man frowned, asked her, was she alright? She looked awfully pale. She waved him away, took a few, unsteady steps, and sat down on a bench.

Breathe in, breathe out, she reminded herself. She closed her eyes, focused on the warmth of the sun on her face and shoulders. Breathe in, breathe out. If she could be in complete control of her body, controlling the outside world would be a piece of cake. That’s how it worked. So she focused on her breathing, until the panic in her subsided, and she could think clearly again.

She opened her eyes, looked around her. Fact: she had been sent back into the past. How? She didn’t know. Why? She didn’t know. She banished those unanswerable questions from her mind. It wasn’t helpful, thinking about them, it would only be a waste of time. All there was to hang on to was, she had been sent back into the past, into a world where you were still alive. For some reason, someone had decided to give her a second chance. She would be damned before she refused to grab it.

**

And so she roamed. For months she roamed. She quit her job, sold her house and left.

She roamed desperately, eagerly.

You had never told her where you lived before the Apocalypse. You hated talking about the past, about what was no more, because it made you so sad and so angry. Only the future matters, you would say. My future with you, darling, you would add. Holding her hand, smiling that cheeky, loving smile of yours that had her coming to you running, bursting through her own walls, ignoring every warning from her own mind.    

She called hundreds of people, asked hundreds of questions. All she had was your name. In the streets her eyes would fall on someone who looked like you, a stranger who had your eyes, a woman who wore the same perfume as you had. Her hand would close on a shoulder and surprised eyes that weren’t yours would glance at her.

At night in motel rooms she would lie in bed and stare at the ceiling until sleep overtook her. Thinking of the next day’s plan, what she would do, where she would go. One step at a time. She couldn’t let herself think about having you back into her arms. It made her heart race so fast, as if it wanted to leap out of her and jump into your chest and stay there forever.

It no longer was hers at all, that heart. One day she realized it was completely, irrevocably yours. Sometimes she could feel it talk to her in your voice, calling for her, Where are you? Don’t give up on me. Come find me.

She had faith in her capacities. She was a strong, smart, stubborn woman. When she set her mind on something, nothing could stop her from getting it. She had never had anything to lose. Casualties didn’t matter; other people didn’t mean a thing to her. She would crush them under her feet without an ounce of hesitation or regret.

Then one morning she woke up, and in the afternoon she found it. Your name. An address in New Orleans.

The rest happened in flashes. The boarding of the plane, the landing of the plane. The jumping into a taxi and barking your address and clinging to the door handle because if she let go she would fall apart. She threw a wad of money at the taxi driver, forced herself to walk slowly and steadily up the front steps to your building. She knocked on your door.

Her heart in her chest was calling your name with every mad beat and weeping with joy at finally being home.

There was no answer. She knocked again, louder.

Certainly you were out. After ten minutes of waiting with her eyes fixed on the door, she turned around and contemplated her options. She would wait for you to come back home, she decided. But no. She couldn’t. She had to find you now.

She walked slowly and steadily down the front steps, came to a halt on the sidewalk and looked around her. It was the middle of the afternoon, the street was almost deserted. An old woman passed her, walking her dog. Wilhemina decided to go left, towards the city center, where perhaps you were working, or buying groceries, or sipping a drink at a coffee shop.

She walked straight ahead of her, eyes darting from one face to another. Her palms were clammy. She was way too hot. The sun beat down on her restlessly and lit up every face but none was yours.

Walked straight ahead. Crossed a street. Her heart was screaming your name and pulling her forward. Suddenly something told her to turn left. She turned left. A few feet from her there was a small swap shop, and in front of that shop there was a young woman, and that young woman was you.

“Y/N!” Wilhemina called.

Oh, thank all the gods in Heaven, she had found you.

She started running, heart pounding madly in her ears, face beaming, pain shooting down her back but she didn’t even feel it, for there was the sweet taste of happiness in her mouth and it occluded everything else.

“Y/N!” she cried, and this time you heard. You turned, and she was only a few feet away from you, she was just about to reach you and wrap her arms around you and pull you tight and crawl inside you and never let you go. Be happy. Be home at last. She had found you.

She didn’t notice your eyes narrowing in confusion and fear until it was too late. You jumped out of her way and she slammed into the window of the shop.

The shock winded her. She dropped her cane and was about to crash on the ground when one arm around her waist pulled her back on her feet.

“Careful. Are you alright?”

You pressed her cane into her hand, your eyes meeting hers in concern. And she laughed, because you were so beautiful, and she had missed you so much, and you were finally back into her arms and hers again.

“Y/N,” she sobbed, leaning in to kiss you – you put one hand on her chest and pushed her back.

Your touch was like a stab to her heart.

“Do I know you?”you asked. There was wariness in your voice, but your eyes were kind.

“Of course you do,” she scoffed, leaning in again but you removed your arm from around her waist and took a few steps back. You glanced nervously into the shop.

“I’m sorry,” you said, shaking your head and holding out your hands again, as if in surrender. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never seen you before.”

A dog barked, very near and very loud. That was the only reason why you didn’t hear the crack of the world as it shattered all around her.

“It’s not funny, Y/N,” Wilhemina growled, her fingers wrapping around her cane and squeezing.

You glanced into the shop again.

“I really am sorry,” you said slowly, cautiously. “But I think you got the wrong person.”

“Y/N,” she breathed. A whisper. Fear was coursing through her veins and this – this couldn’t be happening.

She had found you.

The door to the shop opened and a blond woman stepped out. You immediately closed the space between her and you and planted yourself at her side. Wilhemina saw your shoulders relax.

“Hey,” the woman smiled; she took your hand. You smiled back at her. Looked into Wilhemina’s eyes, and your gaze was almost defiant.

Wilhemina felt all the air and all the warmth leave her body.

She was sick. Her hand that wasn’t holding her cane pressed against her stomach and she almost bent over to throw up on the pavement.

“Do you need help?” the woman asked. Her voice was kind. Sweet as honey. Just as sweet as the day you had died and she had held Wilhemina’s face and promised her –

Wilhemina couldn’t speak. She gawped at the woman and gawped at you as her heart shattered and the world shattered and tiny pieces of it tore at her skin and crushed her bones.

I’ll find her for you, the woman had said. She had promised.

Wilhemina could have burst out laughing.

“Here, why don’t you sit down, honey. You look pale as death.”

“She claims she knows me,” – your voice, suspicious, distrustful. Sounding exactly like it had the first few days at the Outpost, when she didn’t know you and you didn’t know her, when everyone was a potential threat, when you would cry yourself to sleep and she wasn’t there to wipe your tears yet.

“I do know you,” she heard herself say – why was her voice so weak? She was being a child, she was making a fool of herself in front of a stranger, in a public space, for everyone to see. She couldn’t be weak, couldn’t lose her grip on her emotions like that – she couldn’t, she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help it.

“I do know you,” she repeated; and this time it was angry. This time her voice growled like thunder and her eyes burnt and her chest ached.

The blonde’s eyes narrowed. She held out a protective hand in front of you – as if Wilhemina could hurt you. The very idea made her want to throw up again.

“I told you I don’t,” you retorted.

Wilhemina tapped her cane against the ground. For she couldn’t be weak. She couldn’t let them see.

Her heart had disappeared. It had been sucked out from her chest. It had left a gaping hole from which pain and terror oozed to spread throughout her body.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” the woman asked, voice still so kind and so sweet it was like a knife stabbing her in her chest over and over again – good thing her chest was empty. There was nothing to kill. “Is there someone we can call?”

“No, I – I’m fine.”

Fight, said a voice in her head. Stay and fight. Claim her back. The voice was adamant and angry. But Wilhemina saw the way you clang to the woman’s hand, the way you touched your shoulder to hers, the way you glanced at her for reassurance. And she saw the suspicion so clear in your eyes when you looked at her. Saw how your face hardened, brow pushing up slightly, body leaning away from her.

Your body had leant away from her when you had first met her at the Outpost. She had explained the house rules to you as you had tried very hard not to cry and every time she would come close to you you would flinch, and your eyes would widen in fear, your hands clench into fists.

She kept her head high. She shot you and the woman a sneering, scornful look. For she was strong. She had to be, or else the pain would sweep her up and throw her defenseless and already wounded right into the mouth of the world. That mouth had fangs. She was well aware of it.

She didn’t plead, she didn’t ask. She didn’t crawl at the woman’s feet sobbing, demanding to know why she remembered and you couldn’t. Demanding she put an end to this torture, free her from this Hell, reduce her to ashes. She didn’t circle her arms around your legs and refuse to let go.

She turned on her heel and managed to take three steps before a sob pushed out of her throat.

“Hey,” you called behind her, “hey, are you okay?”

She shook her head, batting your hand away as it hovered above her shoulders. She had to go or else she would break for all the world to see. She could feel herself losing control, she couldn’t hold the pain in, couldn’t stop it from flowing out and destroying everything like a wounded beast.

This had never happened to her before, not even once. She had no idea how to deal with it.

So she turned, bared her teeth, snapped at you even though she was choking, even though she was breaking and she had lost her heart. Except the words that poured out of her weren’t the ones she had thought in her mind. The words that poured out were “don’t” and “please” and “everywhere for you” and “took a bullet for me!” and “I love you”.

She only stopped because your eyes were wide and pained and she had never meant to hurt you.

She straightened her shoulders. Gripped her cane tight. Glared.

She left.

**

She was alone, again. And she was unloved, but still in love.

She bit into her fist and screamed.

**

For months she roamed.

She roamed blindly, carelessly.

She took hours-long walks in the dead of night in the most dangerous parts of cities. She crossed the streets on foot when the pedestrian light was red. Part of her wasn’t even aware she did it. The other part did it over and over again, for it was craving for the end.

The loneliness in her settled in her chest and became a familiar friend. The weight of it was comforting.

Some days she slept. Some days she didn’t.

She would survive, she decided. She had survived so many years on her own and she had been just fine. Nothing had changed. She could still do it. She would do it, because she was strong, and smart, and determined. When she set her mind on something, nothing could stop her from getting it. She would forget you, start a new life, learn how to be alone and fine again.

So she let the loneliness fill the hole inside of her.

She got a new job, bought a new house. One day at the supermarket, a woman flirted with her. A tall, stout, sweet woman with kind eyes and an insolent smile. She asked Wilhemina if she was busy, if she wanted to have a drink. She pretended to accidentally drop her purse so she could brush Wilhemina’s wrist as she bent to pick it up.

Wilhemina felt disgust rise in her throat but her body automatically leaned towards the woman, for her body was starving for touch and warmth. None of that, she ordered herself. She didn’t need touch. She was above those despicable, pitiful human needs. She thrived on loneliness. She hated people. People hated her.

So she gave the woman a look that was so scornful, so condescending – look at you, sad, sad creature – and the woman’s smile cracked and her face hardened.

At work she made somebody cry, and it felt good. It reminded her how weak everyone were, how strong she was.

One night as she couldn’t sleep, she decided to take a short walk in the hope that it would clear her head. A group of men sitting on a porch whistled at her and laughed and called her names. She tightened her grip on her cane, but didn’t stop. There was a bus stop across the street from her, and there was a bus parked in front of it, lights within, people within. The men on the porch stood up, jumped on the sidewalk, followed her. She didn’t cross the street to get onto the bus. She kept on walking, and maybe she slowed down, just a little. Maybe. She didn’t know. She wasn’t sure.

She remembered one night at the Outpost when she had been in pain because of her back, but she hadn’t complained, hadn’t told you because she was strong – one of the men knocked her cane out of her hand and gave her a shove – but you had found out anyway, must have read it on her face or seen it in the way she walked. You had snuggled up to her and stroked her hair, and planted soft, sweet, loving kisses on her collarbone – her face hit the cold ground and she tasted blood. The men jeered, laughed, clapped their hands. – Soft, sweet, loving kisses up her neck, on her chin, on her lower lip, captured her lower lip between yours. And she had turned in your arms and nuzzled your neck and you had let out a fond chuckle, tangling your legs with hers, stroking her arm, saying it would be alright, the pain wouldn’t last.

She didn’t try to get up. She lay on the cold, hard concrete with blood in her mouth but she didn’t weep because she no longer had a heart. She had filled the hole it had left with loneliness. She was doing just fine.

Until one Sunday morning when someone knocked on her front door and when she opened it the blond woman who had promised she would find you was right here on her threshold, meeting her eyes and giving her a smile.

**                                                                                      

Cordelia – as she introduced herself – said she had come to check on her. She had been worried about her. Wilhemina had looked so distraught when she had left the other day.

If Wilhemina wasn’t so strong and collected, she would have punched the woman right in her sunny face.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped. “Get out of my porch.”

Cordelia cocked her head and Wilhemina’s grip on her cane tightened because the kindness in Cordelia’s eyes did not fade.

“How did you find me?” Wilhemina asked.

Cordelia smiled. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” she answered. “May I come in?”

Wilhemina straightened her shoulders. “No, you may not.”

“Fine with me,” Cordelia shrugged. “We can talk on the porch. The weather’s warm.”

So she talked. She explained she had come all the way from New Orleans, where she ran a school for young witches. Witches. Of course. That explained the going back in time, the faint energy that seemed to emanate from this woman and engulf her like an invisible mist. Wilhemina glared at her, keeping her face impassible, trying not to glance down at the woman’s pale neck or slender fingers. Those fingers had felt so warm on her cheeks. Somehow, she remembered exactly the way they had wiped her tears.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she snapped, interrupting Cordelia. “Why are you here?”

“I told you. I wanted to check on you.”A sort of wistfulness fell on Cordelia’s eyes like a veil. “Y/N is worried, too. She wants to see you.”

It wasn’t fair, for Wilhemina no longer had a heart, and yet she ached. The woman was a witch, she reminded herself. Surely she had cast a spell on her. Made her weak.

She wanted to abuse Cordelia and slam the door in her face. Instead the magic – it was the magic, nothing else – made her say, “She does?”

Cordelia nodded, smiling kindly, and extended one hand.

Wilhemina took it.

On the flight to New Orleans she asked Cordelia more questions. Subtle ones, to know if she remembered anything from the Apocalypse. She didn’t. Wilhemina was half convinced she was playing with her. Or maybe she had meant to break her from the start. Maybe the kindness was a façade, and behind it lurked a terrible monster.

Wilhemina tried to find little signs of that monster. She shot Cordelia sideways glances, scrutinized her face. Maybe it hid in the thin lines on her forehead, or in the depth of her eyes, or behind her teeth when she smiled.

The woman was a good actress. Wilhemina didn’t find anything.

The house Cordelia lived in, the school, Robichaux’s Academy, was huge. One of the biggest houses Wilhemina had set foot in. And it was brimming with people. Every corridor and every room was crowded with girls and the girls were laughing, they were chattering, they had stupid, childish faces that wore goofy, innocent smiles.  

Cordelia led her down several corridors and Wilhemina walked slowly, regally, keeping her head high and her back ramrod straight. She made sure she looked impressive. She made sure her cane tapped firmly and confidently against the floor.

Cordelia came to a halt in front of a door. She glanced at Wilhemina, then knocked on the door, waited a few seconds, turned the handle, pushed the door open.

Wilhemina decided she wasn’t feeling anything. She looked at you and her eyes were cold and inscrutable.

You stood up from your chair, welcoming her with a smile, and walked over to her and she had to force herself not to meet you halfway.

“Hi,” you said, running one hand in your hair nervously, oh God, just as she had seen you do hundreds and hundreds of times.

Her hands were shaking.

“Hello,” she answered, voice firm and cold, confident, strong.

Silence settled between you. Uncomfortable, terrible. Wilhemina’s mind went blank. She could hear her heart hammering in her ears – but she had no heart, she reminded herself. Silence stretched, until Cordelia cleared her throat.

“Why don’t you two have some tea outside?” she offered. “It’s a beautiful day.”

You let out a breath of relief. “Yes,” you said with a nervous laugh, “yes, good idea. Thank you.”

You led Wilhemina to the kitchen, making small talk, shooting her glances that were half shy, half intrigued. Her gaze drifted from your face to your hands as they put two cups on a tray, a kettle, as they filled the kettle with hot water, on your face again as you opened the box of teabags, on your hair as sunlight fell on it and made it glow.

You carried the tray outside and she followed. Her hands weren’t shaking anymore. Good thing she couldn’t feel anything, she thought.

Like the rest of the house, the garden was alive with girls. Girls reading a book on their own or practicing magic in groups. You selected a table in a corner in the sun, poured the tea, kept on making small talk. Wilhemina hummed, nodded, sometimes shrugged. Her eyes were veiled, unreadable.

“Would you like to spend the night?” you asked her, holding your cup of tea to your mouth, because you enjoyed feeling the warmth on your lips, you had told her once; and once she had rolled her eyes at you and leaned in and replaced the warmth of the tea with the warmth of her mouth.

“I’m taking the night flight home,” she answered coldly.

“Oh.” You made no effort to hide your disappointment. She pretended she didn’t feel joy at that. “Why don’t you stay a few days? It’s a long journey, you must be tired. You could take a break. I’m sure there’s a vacant bed somewhere, or you could –”

“Do you want me to?” she cut you off.

“Want you to stay?” You took a sip of your tea, swallowed. Your eyes avoided hers and focused on a leaf that had fallen on the grass. “I mean, yes.” You glanced up at her, gave her a smile. “I’d love to.”

She nodded. Your smile grew into a beam.

After that, you sank into silence again, but now it was easy. Now it was comfortable. As if ice had melted, and flowers were peeking out.

A few moments passed before you spoke again. “You said I took a bullet for you.” A pause. Your voice was cautious, but curious. You shot her a glance. “What did you mean?”

“I mistook you for someone else,” Wilhemina answered immediately.

“Someone took a bullet for you?” You sat up in your chair, blinking. “Wow. They must have really loved you. How lucky you are.”

For a while you studied her, a dreamy, wistful look in your eyes. Then you asked, very softly, “Did I know you, in another life?”

Wilhemina turned her head away from you. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped – or rather she had meant to snap, but her voice quavered, and her hands were shaking again, and she had finished her tea, so she excused herself. You nodded, eyed her curiously as she stood up.

She walked, slowly, regally, until she found a bathroom. There was a girl inside, doing her make-up; Wilhemina barked at her, ordered her to get out. After the door had slammed shut, she put her hands on either side of the sink and closed her eyes. She took deep, long breaths, until the shaking of her fingers on the cold porcelain subsided.

When she opened her eyes again, they were cold and dry and she congratulated herself. She walked out of the bathroom, sneering at the helpless, foolish girls. Already they knew they had better move out of her way.  

During dinner, Cordelia introduced her to the girls. Most of them were ugly, ugly faces and ugly bodies they had tried to make beautiful with foundation and lipstick and pretty dresses. It made Wilhemina feel sick, the fondness in Cordelia’s voice, the way she coated every name with affection and pride. A modern Midas, turning the worthless into the precious.

“And this is Zoe.” Cordelia smiled fondly at one of the oldest girls. “She’s been with us for years now.”

Boring. Wilhemina raised her eyebrows contemptuously.

“And here’s Mary – say hi, Mary – and over there’s Queenie, and on her left, Mallory.”

Mallory. Why did the name sound familiar?

She looked at the girl. The girl looked at her.

Wilhemina grabbed her wrist and pinned her against the wall.

“What did you do?” she hissed in her face. “What the fuck happened?”

She wrapped one hand around Mallory’s throat, but before she had time to squeeze something burnt her fingers and something else pulled her away, hard. And then Cordelia was towering above her, voice cold and eyes flaring, but Wilhemina couldn’t see her very well for the world had turned a bit blurry.

When Cordelia had calmed down, Wilhemina asked to speak with Mallory in private. The girl folded her arms on her chest and stood in front of her without fear, but with a pained sadness in her eyes.

“I don’t know,” Mallory said, shaking her head. “I don’t know why you can remember. I’m sorry.”

“Could Cordelia have cursed me?” Wilhemina hissed.

Mallory frowned. “No. Cordelia would never do such a horrible thing to someone. If she did cast a spell on you, I’m sure she meant well. I’m sorry,” she repeated after a pause.

Wilhemina changed her mind and took the night flight home. Just to prove she didn’t care.

The night after, she went back to the place where the men on the porch had called her names and knocked her cane from her hands. They weren’t there. She waited, hoping they would come, hoping they would kick her ribs broken and destroy her so she could let herself sink into the pain. They didn’t come.

She wandered down back alleys, into all the darkest, narrowest, dirtiest streets. Nothing happened. She wanted to tear off her skin.

The night after that, the men were there. They recognized her. They laughed. Their eyes shone in the dark and their teeth flashed white. They left her coughing out blood and wheezing on the sidewalk, supporting herself on shaky arms. She didn’t weep.

She limped all the way back home, turned the key in her lock, pushed her door open. She didn’t realize the lights were on in her living room until she raised her head and saw Cordelia sitting on her couch.

“What the – “

She jumped, pressing one hand against her chest to calm the mad beating of whatever still beat in it. Cordelia took one look at her and frowned.

“What happened to you?” she asked, standing up and crossing to her.

Wilhemina leaned away from her.

“What are you doing in my house?” she snapped, eyes shooting daggers, but Cordelia didn’t seem fazed at all. She came to a halt mere inches from her and narrowed her eyes as she scrutinized her face. “How did you get in here?”

“Who hurt you?” Cordelia asked. There was an angry fire burning in her eyes that made Wilhemina shiver.

She tightened her grip on her cane, straightened her shoulders and managed not to wince at the pain.

“I’m fine,” Wilhemina snapped.

Cordelia’s eyes locked with hers. So dark and so deep and all she wanted was to curl up inside them and be safe. Wilhemina blinked, raised her chin defiantly.

The fire in Cordelia’s eyes died down and was replaced by concern. She turned, walked to the couch and reached into one of her coat’s pockets, from which she retrieved a small, round box.

She crossed back to Wilhemina and opened the box.

“What’s this?” Wilhemina hissed.

“Healing balm,” Cordelia answered, dipping one finger into the stuff. “One of my sisters made it. I always carry some with me, just in case.”

“I don’t need your help,” Wilhemina said.

Cordelia shot her a look.”Clearly you don’t. Hold still. There’s a nasty cut on – ”

Wilhemina slapped her hand away. “Don’t touch me,” she growled, low and angry.

“This won’t hurt,” Cordelia tried.

“I said, don’t touch me.”

Hesitation flicked across Cordelia’s features. Then she sighed, lowered her hand and wiped her finger on the inside of her wrist.

“Why are you here?” Wilhemina asked her. She didn’t want her here. She wanted her to leave, right now, leave her alone so she could sleep. So she could let the pain wash over her and take her away. She didn’t want to see Cordelia’s stupid face, didn’t want to see her smile, didn’t want to hear her say everything would be alright and there was hope still and other bullshits she was sure Cordelia liked to say.

Cordelia’s brow pushed up in thought. “I’m here,” she said after a pause, “because I know there’s something wrong.”

Wilhemina scoffed. “You mean with me?”

“I think something bad happened to you,” Cordelia said softy, cocking her head and staring into her eyes. “I don’t know what, I don’t know why. But I can feel it, and I want to help.”

“Why?” The words dropped from her mouth. She cleared her throat, said it again, louder, firmer.

“I don’t know,” Cordelia answered. A smile; kind, sad. “I can’t help it. I think we were meant to meet each other, you and I. I think there are forces drawing us towards each other.”

Wilhemina rolled her eyes at her. “I don’t care for your magic tricks,“ she snarled. “I’m perfectly fine.”

Oh, how she wanted to sleep. Make the goddamn woman leave, she prayed silently, to anyone, anything that would hear. Her head was buzzing. She felt her body reel as if she were drunk, as if she were on a boat. Her legs hurt, and she wasn’t sure she could stay on her feet much longer.

Cordelia’s brow furrowed.

“I’m fine,” Wilhemina repeated, tongue too thick, words too slurred – she felt like collapsing into the witch’s arms. Weak, said the voice in her head. So fucking weak.

Wilhemina gritted her teeth. None of that. She would not let this woman, who had taken everything from her, push past her defenses with her kind eyes and her kind smile and her good intentions. She didn’t need help. She had never needed help. She thrived on loneliness, she pushed people away, that’s what she always did, that’s what had made her succeed in life.

“If you’re still here in five seconds I will –” she heard herself snarl, but Cordelia interrupted her.

“Actually, Y/N and I are staying at the hotel down the street.”

“ – beat your brains out, Supreme or n – what?”

Cordelia shrugged innocently. “I’ve been promising her we’d go on a trip together. We figured you could take us on a tour of the city. You know, sightseeing and such.”

Wilhemina couldn’t speak. Her mouth had gone completely dry. She stared at Cordelia as she grabbed her coat and slowly, nonchalantly, put it on. All she could think about was, you were sleeping a few blocks away from her. In the same city. The same street. She didn’t know how to process that information. All she would have to do was walk a few blocks and open a door and you would be there, close enough for her to touch you and hold you and –

Enough, snapped the voice in her head. You weren’t hers anymore. She had lost you. You didn’t even know who she was.

“Tomorrow, 10 am?” Cordelia’s voice brought her back to reality. She met her eyes, blinked.

“I have work,” she said automatically.

“Tomorrow’s Sunday.” Cordelia smiled. “I’ll leave this here,” she said, setting the healing balm on the coffee table. “Just in case. Goodnight.”

Did she hear the door close? She wasn’t sure. For long minutes she stood frozen in the middle of her living room, her legs shaking, her hands shaking, her whole body shaking. She had half a mind to run to the hotel and claim you back. Claim back what was hers. Damn Cordelia’s magic. She had nothing to lose.

But then she remembered. She was better off alone. Loneliness had made her whole again.

She forced her aching body up the stairs and collapsed onto her bed. She didn’t change, didn’t wash off the blood that had dried on her face. She was too tired to move, too tired to do anything but pray for oblivion.

Every muscle in her body was screaming in pain. She focused on the weight in her chest, found comfort and reassurance in its familiarity, in the knowledge that the loneliness would never leave her. She could trust loneliness. Unlike people, it never left her. It never forgot her.

The next morning at 10 am her doorbell rang. She limped to the door and opened it.

Your smile cracked as you took her in.

“Jeez,” you breathed, “you look terrible.”

“You should have used the healing balm,” Cordelia said as way of greeting.

Wilhemina could have slapped her. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and sneered. “I told you I didn’t need it.”

“You obviously do,” you retorted, pushing past her and into her house. “Come on, lie down.”

“Excuse me?” she said with an incredulous laugh.

“I said lie down.” You nodded to the couch. “Don’t make me use force on you.”

She lay down. You dipped your finger into the balm and gently applied it on the cut on Wilhemina’s cheek. The tenderness of your touch made her insides ache.

“Where do you hurt?” you asked.

Wilhemina gritted her teeth, shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said sharply.

You gave her shoulder a gentle slap. “Don’t lie to me. Where do you hurt?”

She scowled at you, swallowed. Kept her mouth shut tight.

“Her ribs,” Cordelia said.

“I don’t –“ Wilhemina started, but you gave her a look and slapped her shoulder again, not hard enough to hurt, but it did silence her.

Your fingers hovered above her ribcage.

“Can I?” you asked her.

She nodded. She didn’t know why. She had never been good at refusing you.

Slowly, carefully, you lifted her shirt. The cold air prickled her skin. You gasped when you saw the bruises that covered her ribs like dead leaves. She averted her eyes from your face and stared darkly at the wall on her left.

You didn’t say anything. You scooped up the healing balm and gently massaged it into her skin. It burnt, but not as much as your touch did. She had to force herself not to break down and sit up and bury herself into you. Your fingers rubbed circles on her skin, between her ribs, on every bruise, your skin molten lava against hers. It seeped into every one of her pore and reduced her bones to ashes. And how she ached. She ached for more, for love and tenderness, for the feeling of your arms holding her and your lips on hers and your heart beating for the two of you.

She clenched her hands into fists to stop herself from pulling you close.

When you were done applying the balm, you met her eyes. Time froze. One of your hands came up to her face to trace the outline of her mouth. She swallowed hard, eyes wide and pleading.  

She wanted to be held. It swelled inside her like a tidal wave, that need, violent and wild, she wanted to be held and loved and she wanted the pain and the loneliness to stop.

Shut the fuck up, she ordered herself. Quit being such a child.

Cordelia insisted you postponed the tour of the city and stayed home instead so that Wilhemina could rest. Wilhemina protested. Cordelia narrowed her eyes at her, flicked her fingers.

“Look, it just started to rain anyway,” she said innocently.

So you three stayed home. Made yourselves cozy. Wilhemina scowled as you and Cordelia settled in her house as if it were yours. You wrapped yourself up into a blanket and snuggled up to Cordelia with a happy sigh. You asked Wilhemina questions, about her hobbies, her job, and did she have a sweetheart? Your eyes stuck out above the rim of the blanket, your gaze relaxed and content. Cordelia combed her fingers lazily through your hair, listening to you speak, her eyes sometimes darting to Wilhemina’s face to glance at her thoughtfully.

That night Wilhemina went out and roamed. She walked until her back hurt and she thought her legs would give out. But they didn’t, because she was strong.

A few hours before dawn, she went to bed. She curled up as tight as she could because maybe if she made herself small enough the world would forget about her. She prayed for oblivion, but most of all she prayed for someone to take the loneliness out of her chest and give her back her heart.

And the next morning, Cordelia and you knocked on her door and smiled at her two smiles that were completely different but that both made her chest feel too tight.

Anger swelled into her, for who did you think you were, invading her space, bringing her breakfast and flowers, healing her wounds and asking her questions. So she tapped her cane against the floor and said something mean. Said something meant to hurt, to wipe that smile from your face. Except you rolled your eyes at her, and Cordelia shot her a look, and then you were in her living room and Cordelia was in her kitchen setting the table for breakfast.

And Wilhemina wanted to tear her hair out. She wanted to scream. She didn’t know what to do with all the anger and all the terror and all the pain in her chest. She sneered, and mocked, and snapped, and kept her face as unreadable as ever.

After breakfast, Wilhemina turned her back to you and sat on the couch with a book. She didn’t notice Cordelia staring at her thoughtfully, didn’t see her lean towards you and whisper something in your ear. You nodded, and as Cordelia turned to wash the dishes, you crossed to the couch, sat down on it and nonchalantly touched your shoulder to Wilhemina’s.

Your warmth seeped through her clothes. It hurt and soothed her at the same time. It stole the breath from her and made her throat close up and her whole body tingle and her eyes sting. She froze, blinking back tears, as voices in her head screamed for her to get up, to run, or maybe to grab her cane and smash your head; anything to make the storm in her disappear.

“What are you reading?” you asked, sweetly and innocently, peering at the book on her lap. You leaned forward, chin brushing her arm, and she snapped.

She rose, as calmly as she could, tossed the book at you disdainfully, and busied herself with drying the dishes.

**

That night when she went out, she found Cordelia sitting on the sidewalk in front of her house. She was dressed all in black, hair glowing in the dim light. Wilhemina came to a halt and looked down on her.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed.

Cordelia shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d take a walk with you.”

Wilhemina could have refused. She chose not to.

For a long time they walked in silence. The night was clear and quiet, stars shining far above their heads, the only sound the steady clinking of Wilhemina’s cane. Cordelia adjusted her pace to Wilhemina’s. She didn’t look at her, didn’t say a thing. She only offered company.

Wilhemina’s feet led them back to the men on the porch. They were there, laughing drunkenly at each other, and they shot her and Cordelia glances as they passed, but they did not call after them, did not mock, did not hurt. Probably they too could feel the power emanating from Cordelia; and some of them bowed their heads in awe as she passed.

When the clock struck two, Cordelia offered to rest on a bench drenched in moonlight. They sat side by side, not touching, not looking at each other. They didn’t speak.

**

“Do you love her?” Wilhemina asked you.

“Delia?” The mere mention of her name made you beam. “I do. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Turning darkness into light, finding beauty in the ugliest of faces. Of course you loved her.

You cocked your head, glanced at her sideways.

“I like you, too,” you said, with that cheeky smile of yours that never failed to make her insides melt. “That might become a problem.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” Wilhemina said matter-of-factly. “Soon enough you’ll forget about me. Here, problem solved.”

“Come with us.”

An incredulous laugh escaped her. “Excuse me?”

“There’s nothing holding you back here,” you said, holding her gaze.

“I have a job,” she hissed. “I have a home.”

“You have a house.” You gave her a smile, but your eyes were serious. “Come with us. We’ll find you a room. Cordelia could need help with the administrative – “

“I said no,” she snapped. “Or maybe you don’t understand that simple word?”

“Why not?” you insisted.

“Because you – “ She cut herself off.

Because you would tear her walls down. Because she had lost you, and she had lost her heart, and she had filled the gap it had left in her chest with loneliness.

Because she hated people, and Cordelia’s school was full of them, full of voices and laughter and the promise of love.

“What are you afraid of?” you asked her.

She scoffed. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

“Right. So come with us.”

“And settle with a bunch of pubescent fools who think they’re special? I’d rather rot in Hell.”

To her dismay, you laughed. But that shouldn’t have surprised her, really. You’d never been intimated by her snapping.

“To be fair,” you said, smiling at her, “some of the girls are pubescent fools. But they’re all lovely. I’m sure they’ll grow on you. Come on,” you nudged her arm, “move in with us.”

“I don’t want to,” she snapped.

And so, and so – you and Cordelia stood before her front door, saying their goodbyes. And when she glanced on the left, Wilhemina saw the loneliness waiting to slam the door shut and throw its fists on her face. It was a monster, and its ugly smile stole the breath from her. It made her shake, it reopened all the wounds the balm had soothed.

Cordelia followed her gaze but saw nothing.

“Well, then,” you said uneasily. “Feel free to come visit us sometimes.”

You hesitated, then leaned forward and planted a kiss on her cheek.

Suddenly Wilhemina wasn’t in her house anymore. She was at the Outpost, sitting on a chair before a roaring fire, telling you about her plans for the future, and you leaned forward and planted a kiss on her cheek. Before she knew what she was doing, she tilted her head and touched her mouth to yours.

That had been the first kiss she had shared with you. Back when she still had a heart, and it had swelled and sang, and she had pulled away trembling because she’d expected you to laugh, to say, Poor thing, but instead you had smiled lovingly at her and whispered –

“Mina?”

– Mina.

She drew in a shaky breath and realized she was crying.

A thumb on her cheek caught her tears. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” Your eyes, wide and full of worry. She shook her head, stifling a sob.

“I’m fine,” she said. Her voice was too raspy, so she cleared her throat. Straightened her shoulders, sniffled, tried to scowl.

“When did that happen?” Cordelia’s eyes were wide and – and was that tears in them?

“Excuse me?”Wilhemina asked.

“When did that happen?” Cordelia repeated. “The kiss? By the fireplace? When did you…“ Her voice trailed off.

Fear washed over Wilhemina. She had to fight the impulse to make herself small. Your eyes darted from her face to Cordelia’s as you tried to understand what was happening.

“What kiss?” you frowned. “What are you talking about, Delia?”

But Cordelia wasn’t looking at you. Her brow pushed up as understanding flicked across her face, and Wilhemina… she couldn’t breathe. She dug her nails into her arms, needing pain to anchor herself to, because she was falling apart. She was losing her defenses.

Cordelia couldn’t know. Oh God please, she couldn’t know. She couldn’t see her bare and bruised. She had no right to know about her failure. This was all her fault, she had no right to bask in her pain and point a finger at her and laugh.

Wilhemina tried to keep her mind blank, but images of you and her filed before her eyes, bright as fireworks. You and her. Moments of intimacy, moments of vulnerability, secrets whispered in the dark, smiles exchanged by candlelight, moments of trust and love she would never forget. She tried to fight it, but something – something like magic – seeped into her brain and raked it, searching every corner, blowing on the dust, demanding to know. Oh God, Cordelia couldn’t know.

Cordelia didn’t laugh. Her face fell, and the tears spilled from her eyes. “Oh my God,” she breathed.

The monster by the door came at Wilhemina’s rescue. It jumped on her and freed her throat so that she could scream, “Leave me alone.”

You took a step towards her but Cordelia called your name. Shook her head. The sadness in her eyes seemed to engulf her whole face.

“But I – “you started.

“Don’t,” Cordelia breathed. “Come on, love. Let’s do what she wants.”

You hesitated. But Cordelia was the Supreme, and you trusted her, and you loved her, and you would follow her to the end of the Earth. So, slowly, you turned around, and Wilhemina watched as you left and softly closed the door behind you. The light from outside was blocked.

The monster laughed and smashed Wilhemina’s head in.

**

The great thing about routine was, it helped Wilhemina keep a firm grip on her thoughts. No surprises, no great worries. Every day was the same. She would wake up at the same hour, go to work, go back home, sleep or roam the streets. Her work was demanding, and it kept her busy. She sank into routine like some people sink into alcohol. For relief.

Her new boss wasn’t exactly the brightest of women, but she was more competent than Jeff and Mutt had been. And more importantly, she didn’t give a damn how Wilhemina treated her other employees.

Abusing them was Wilhemina’s outlet for all the emotions she didn’t allow herself to feel. Every day she would remind them how strong she was, how weak and stupid they were. Every day she would hate them because it was easier than to let her own self-hatred consume her. They did not deserve her, she sneered, to silence the voice in her head that said she did not deserve them.

One afternoon she made a young woman cry. The noises that woman made as she sobbed and gasped sounded exactly the same as those that would tear their way out of Wilhemina’s throat when she would wake up, drenched in sweat and tears, in the middle of the night, from a nightmare in which she had seen you die in her arms again.

One week after you left, Wilhemina received a letter from Cordelia. It was short and kind, an apology. Wilhemina rolled her eyes as she read it. Then she read the last line: I can make you forget, if you think that could help.

She thought about it. Forgetting you and everything that had happened would indeed help her. She would be able to focus on herself again, focus on her work instead of spending every minute of every day trying not to think about you. She would be able to start a new life, and forget that she had ever been weak at all.

But forgetting you? Forgetting how it had felt to love and be loved? To be seen, fully, the ugly and the beautiful, the wisdom and the foolishness, and yet still cherished and treasured?  

She didn’t know. She thought she’d rather not forget you. Besides, she was fine now.

The day after she received Cordelia’s letter, she received another one. From you. Her fingers shook as she opened the envelope and read the single sentence: My offer still stands.

She had fought you at the Outpost, too. At first she had refused to let you in, refused to believe you could mean well. She pushed you away, over and over again. But you must have seen something in her that was beautiful and rare, for you kept coming back. Until one day, the day that had led to that first kiss shared before the fireplace, when you had met her in a corridor and said, “Why don’t you come to my room tonight?”

She had come to a halt and glared. “I think you forgot the rules, Y/N.”

“But rules are meant to be broken,” you had retorted without missing a beat, that cheeky smile of yours creeping up your lips. “Come on,” you had whispered, and you had leaned in and brushed her wrist.

Her heart, that she still had at the time, had bloomed in her chest.

But she had glared, and kept silent, so you had shrugged and made to walk off, but before that you had flashed her a smile and said, “If you change your mind, my offer still stands.”

Wilhemina read that single sentence over and over again. Something new grew in her chest and wrapped around it like ivy. Hope. It was hope.

She wiped her eyes, looked around her as if she didn’t know where she was.

She had no idea whether Cordelia had told you what she had seen. The thought terrified her. Because she knew you, and she knew you would feel like you had to be with her. You would pity her, and she didn’t want your pity.

But then again, Cordelia had offered to make her forget. Telling you would make no sense then.

It’s not weakness, she told the voice in her head, if I go there to claim her mine. If I decide to wreak havoc, to break Cordelia’s heart, what if I killed her, Wilhemina snarled, louder than the voice, what if I killed her like I killed those morons at the Outpost?  Would I be weak, then?

She packed a bag. Or rather, the hope in her chest packed a bag, jumped on a taxi, jumped on a plane. The hope in her chest watched the sky through the small window and the wisps of clouds and pounded in her ears.

Somehow she remembered exactly the way from the airport to Robichaux’s Academy. The sun was burning her face and blinding her as she shakily climbed the front steps. She snapped at the boy who let her in, demanded he led her to you. The boy hesitated, looked around for help, but there was no one else in the hall. Wilhemina took one step closer to him and he deflated.

A corridor. A door. A room, you sitting at a desk, peering up at her. The hope, pounding in her ears.

You stood up with a grin and made for her.

She would be strong, she decided. She was strong. She would keep her face unreadable, and she would glare, tap her cane on the floor, look down on you. She would say something mean and sneer.

She collapsed into your arms with a strangled cry.

You blinked in surprise, wrapped your arms around her waist to support her. Brought a hand up to tangle in her hair as she clutched your shirt in her fists and forced herself to take a breath in, and then she let out another cry for you smelled exactly as she remembered.

“Hey,” you whispered. You tightened your grip on her as a sob pushed up her throat. “I’m so glad you’re here.” A pause. “I missed you.”

The noise that dropped from Wilhemina’s mouth couldn’t possibly have been made by her. It was too sad, too broken, too needy. It terrified her.    

She made to pull away, leave the room and never come back, but you pressed her closer into you and dropped a kiss on her hair.

So she stopped fighting. Instead, she gave in to hope. She let it swell in her chest and warm her up from the inside out, soothing some of the pain and adding more to it. She tucked her nose against your neck and breathed you in.

It could have been hours, it could have been minutes, as she stood shaking in your arms and you stroked her hair and waited patiently for her to collect herself.

When you met her eyes again they were rimmed red, and her cheeks were burning when you kissed her tears away. She took a sharp intake of breath, seemed to freeze against you. You gave her a smile, cupped her face, dropped a soft kiss on her brow, the tip of her nose, her lower lip. You pulled away and gave her another smile.

“When did you arrive here?” you asked her gently. She didn’t answer, only stared at you as if she couldn’t believe you were real. “You must be tired,” you went on. It wasn’t a question. She didn’t deny it.

You took her hand and led her to your bed. “Come on, lie down. Close your eyes for a bit.”

“No, I –“ She shook her head, swallowed. “I’m fine. I’m not tired.”

You gave her a look. Thought of another strategy. “Well, the truth is, just before you arrived I decided I’d take a nap. But it would be rude to leave you alone since you flew across the country just to see me. So please, don’t make me feel uncomfortable, and lie down.”

For a second you thought she would refuse. But then, to your great relief, she sat down on the bed. She waited for you to do the same.

She lay on her back, folded her hands on her chest and stared at the ceiling. You smiled even though she couldn’t see you, half amused, half fond. You turned on your side, watched her profile, admired the swell of her cheek and the line of her nose.

Wilhemina had not felt so alive in months. Every nerve in her body was set on fire, fingers twitching on her chest, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch you. Wanting nothing more than to be held. Her skin had been haunted by the memory of your warmth and now she was pretty sure she would die if she could not feel it again.

She would never be able to move on, she realised. She didn’t want to. Why couldn’t she just close her eyes, and when she opened them again find herself back at the Outpost, with your lips on her lips and you remembering her, remembering that you loved and wanted her, that you had planned a bright future with her in it. That one day you had looked into her eyes and said you did not want a future if you could not have her.

Her throat tightened painfully. Tears sprang to her eyes again. She sniffed, blinked them back angrily.

Your breath out, your breath in. She could hear everything. The soft rustle of the sheet as you moved your foot. Were you asleep? She couldn’t see your face out of the corner of her eye. She would have to turn her head, look at you, take the risk of meeting your eyes. She couldn’t meet your eyes. Then you would see the unshed tears and the weakness.

She heard you shift, felt your arm drape lazily over her stomach. She forgot how to breathe.    

You pulled her to you, giving her a squeeze, pushing your face against her neck and nuzzling her skin. “You know I really meant it,” you whispered. You dropped a kiss on her skin, just below her jaw. “I missed you. So did Delia. Please stay.”

Another kiss on her skin. Closer to her mouth. Wilhemina’s chest and throat felt so tight, too tight, she couldn’t breathe. The ceiling swam before her eyes. She bit the inside of her cheek, ordering herself not to cry, ordering herself to keep it together, just keep it together you fucking worthless piece of shit. She felt warmth on her chin where your fingers touched her, tilting her head so your mouth could meet hers.

She sobbed into the kiss. She tried to move her lips to kiss you back, but they quivered and parted on yet another sob that hurt her chest. You made to pull away to let her breathe, and she whimpered, pulled you back against her, pressed her forehead against your chest and choked and panted as she forced herself to stifle her sobs.

It hurt her whole body, it made her head throb, but she successfully held back any subsequent signs of weakness. No other sob or tear escaped her. When she had regained complete control of herself, she counted to ten and pulled away.

You stared at her worriedly, searching her face for any sign that could help you understand what had just happened. After a minute or two, you gave up.

**

Cordelia came back shortly after five. When she saw Wilhemina, she shot her a smile that shone brighter than the sun and made Wilhemina weak in the knees. Cordelia pulled her into a hug, warm and firm, and Wilhemina told herself she didn’t feel anything. Didn’t feel the way her heart – but she had lost her heart, all that was left was a pump that sometimes beat too fast – the way that pump fluttered, the way her skin tingled under Cordelia’s touch as she gently stroked the nape of her neck.  

When Cordelia pulled back, her face bright as the first day of summer, eyes shining and smile beaming, Wilhemina forgot what she had meant to say and almost asked for another hug. Almost. She silenced the thought before it had time to leave her mouth.

Cordelia asked her a million annoying questions, such as, how was her trip, was she tired, was she hungry, had she eaten something since she arrived? She made her tea, which she insisted she drank, and that tea had to be magic for it filled Wilhemina with warmth and peace.

Then you grabbed Wilhemina’s hand and took her on a tour of the house. Cordelia followed you, offering smiles like flowers to her girls, laughing at what one of them said, frowning in sympathy at another’s woeful tale. You showed Wilhemina the classrooms, the piano room, the garden, the greenhouse. Wilhemina scowled at how messy the place was, nose crinkling in contempt. She snapped at one of the girls who came too close to her, glared when the girl told her to “chill”, and was about to call her names and let her know her mind when you rolled your eyes at her, smiling lovingly. Something in her relaxed, and her gaze softened.

A bed in a spare room was made for her. When it was time to sleep, you lingered in her door, making small talk, not quite daring to meet her eyes. She had rarely seen you act shy before. She sat on the bed, one hand holding her cane, the other resting on the sheet, palm up. She couldn’t stop her fingers from twitching.

Your gaze fell on her hand. For a second or two, you seemed to hesitate. Bit your lip. Met her eyes, and wondered at the sadness so wide you could see in them. Then she raised her chin and said goodnight.

**

Wilhemina announced she would stay one week and not a day more. You tried to convince her to stay longer, told her that spare room was hers if she wanted to. She wouldn’t hear of it.

It was a strange, peaceful week. You spent every minute of your spare time with Wilhemina, and Cordelia joined you in the evenings. When it was just you and her, you would take walks through the city, show her all your favorite places. Wilhemina would listen with attention and ask questions and sometimes she would smile. Sometimes, when you would glance at her when she thought you were not looking, you would see that sadness that seemed to darken her eyes, and you would wonder. Once you reached out and cupped her cheek, to try and see if touch would make it go away. It didn’t, not entirely, but part of it faded, and light sparkled instead.

When Cordelia joined you, something would wake up in Wilhemina and she would be snarkier, meaner, sometimes even cruel. All her negativity bounced off Cordelia and fell at her feet. The more Wilhemina snarled, the kinder Cordelia grew. It was a strategy you had seen her use with other people before, and it had always worked. Cordelia’s light would find its way through the small, almost invisible gaps in the other person’s armor and cling to them and refuse to let go.

You watched as Wilhemina fought and resisted and refused to yield. She was stubborn. But so was Cordelia.

One night you woke up to an empty bed. It was pitch black outside, no moon, no stars. Thinking maybe one of the girls had required Cordelia’s assistance, you got up, walked down the corridor towards the light you could see shining through the music room’s door.

Soft voices reached your ears, so you came to a halt before the door and peeked inside.

Cordelia and Wilhemina were sitting on the couch, side by side. Wilhemina had both her hands resting on her lap, and Cordelia had draped one arm over her shoulders. Wilhemina’s head rested on Cordelia’s shoulder.

You gawped at them. You didn’t know what you had expected to see, but certainly not that.

They were whispering to each other. Cordelia’s eyes were soft and sad, Wilhemina’s face as inscrutable as ever. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it seemed to you Cordelia was asking questions, which Wilhemina sometimes answered, sometimes shrugged off. At one point she rubbed her cheek on Cordelia’s shoulder, and Cordelia tightened her grip on her and pulled her closer.

You watched them for a few minutes, until Wilhemina’s façade crumbled. Her face softened and her eyes became vulnerable. So then you tip-toed back to your room, not wanting to be disrespectful, to spy on an intimate moment you had no right to witness. You slipped between the sheets, hugged Cordelia’s pillow, and smiled.

It seemed to you things changed after that night. It wasn’t a revolution, it wasn’t an earthquake that changed the surface of the Earth; but small things, like waking up one morning and noticing the roses outside have bloomed. Spotting the fragments of eggshells on the ground at the foot of the tree where the couple of birds had built their nest.

Wilhemina still threw snarky and mean remarks at Cordelia. But her eyes were kinder, less guarded. And when Cordelia poked her on the stomach once, she leaned towards her instead of away.

When the week came to an end, it wasn’t you who asked Wilhemina to stay. It was Cordelia. She sat Wilhemina down on the couch, kneeled in front of her and took her hand, as a mother would with a child. Wilhemina raised her chin defiantly and contemptuously at her behavior. She was about to say something, but Cordelia spoke first.

She said she loved having Wilhemina around. She said she could use an extra pair of hands to help with all the administrative tasks. She said you and her were not exclusive, and here you added that indeed you were not, and it would make you happy if Wilhemina decided to stay.

Wilhemina’s eyes drifted from Cordelia’s face to yours, dubious and sad, and again you wondered where all that sadness had come from.

Cordelia brought a hand up to cup Wilhemina’s cheek. She smiled, and said Wilhemina didn’t have to be alone anymore.

You lay your hand on Wilhemina’s shoulder. She titled her head up to meet your eyes, swallowed.

So, warily, she took a piece of the loneliness out of her chest and replaced it with a piece of you. The weight inside her shifted, changed. It didn’t feel lighter, it didn’t feel heavier either. But something changed. The texture, maybe, or the taste of it.

She had done it before. It was easy to do it again.

And then, she turned to Cordelia and locked eyes with hers. She hesitated. Should she? She hated people, she reminded herself. People hated her. Her gaze hardened. But Cordelia smiled, and her smile was kind, and it told her she wouldn’t hurt her. And Wilhemina believed her.

So she, very, very warily, took another piece of the loneliness out of her chest and replaced it with a piece of Cordelia. She almost expected it to burn her and destroy her from the inside out. Like a booby-trapped car, pieces of her flying everywhere in the sky. But instead it glowed. Instead it was warm, and it brought her peace.

The three pieces inside of her, the one that was yours, the one that was Cordelia’s, and the loneliness, shifted and tugged until they found their place, like pieces of a puzzle coming together.

And so she wept.

Her chin pressed into her chest and her shoulders shook as she wept for what she had lost. For her heart that was no more and the loneliness that had made her whole again and the love that had found her when she had lost hope. You snuggled up to her and Cordelia held her hand, chin trembling, thumb rubbing Wilhemina’s knuckles. You tangled your fingers in Wilhemina’s hair and cradled her head in your hand.

You held her as she wept, whispered words of comfort. She shivered when you pressed your chest against hers. One of her hands slipped between you and her to push against your ribs. She splayed out her fingers, pressed her palm against you to feel the steady beat of your heart. You planted kisses on her forehead, on her trembling eyelids. You planted a kiss on her cheek, and she let out a gasp, tilted her head, and touched her mouth to yours.

Tag list: @sapphicsarahpaulson @mssallymckenna @supremeinlilac @pluied-ete

[marchtomydrums]

Cordelia Goode🖤

-Cordelia Goode x Reader

Mother/Daughter

Just Takes Time

Dark Day

-Cordelia Goode and Wilhemina Venable x Reader (Daughter)

The Parent I Needed

Run For Your Money

She Gets This From You

Why Don't You Like Me?

The Witch Bitch From New York

Our Little Secret

The Next Supreme

Please Don't Leave

I’ll Miss You

Movie Nights

Halloween

-Ally Mayfair x Cordelia Goode x Wilhemina Venable x Reader (Daughter)

I'm Home Now

Our Friend

The Flu

Thunderstorms

Lessons Learned

You're Safe Little One

-Cordelia Goode x Whilemina Venable x Billie Dean Howard x Reader

Home

You're Mine

You're Safe and You're Loved

Group Chats

Don't Be A Grinch

Group Chats 2 & Consequences of the Group Chat

Will you dance with me?

How it started

Bad Day

Group Chats 3

Group Chats 4

No Place We’d Rather Be

I'll never let you fall

Group Chats 5

Old Habits

Birthday

Group Chats7

Old Habits 2

[fumingspice]

Adore You

Adore You- Wilhemina Venable x Reader

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x reader

Words: 1.1K

Prompt: Anon- Could you do a one shot (Whilemina x reader) where the reader is having a really bad day with period cramps and Mina takes care of her for the whole day. Brings her chocolate, gives encouraging words, and all that fluffy stuff. Thank you-🍯🐻

Requests are open!

You groan and push your head further into your girlfriend’s mattress, hands gripping your lower abdomen as another wave of cramps struck in your belly.

The orange light from the flame of the candles which engulfed each room in the apartment was one of the few things which brought you comfort. The golden light brought back brilliant memories of Sunkissed skin on sandy beaches in the most beautiful tropical destinations.

If you had any willpower you would pull your uterus out, but right now you did not feel like dying. It felt like you could not do much else except stifle as many senses as possible into the lilac sheets.

“Where the fuck are my Jimmy Choo’s?” Coco stormed in. “I swear if you’ve let Mallory hide them in here, I’m going to pierce your nose with my fucking heels, Y/N.”

What a nice atmosphere for your suffering.

Coco and Mallory were spending a few days with you and Wilhelmina while their roof was being repaired after Madison Montgomery lit a firework in her third-floor bathroom.

“Coco, can you please leave me alone for ten minutes? I feel like I’m going to die,” you muttered, placing your forearm over your eyes.

Coco folded her arms and shrugged at you. “Well in that case, you’re the luckiest one of us!” she said. She paused for a moment to get a better look at you. “Jeez. You actually do kinda look like shit.”

“Wow, thanks a lot, bitch,” you spit, propping yourself up against your pillows. Your period hadn’t been this bad in years. In fact, it had more-or-less disappeared for a few months and you were not please for it to have returned with such a slash.

Coco threw up her hands defensively. Her up-do bobbing like a hydrophobic penguin as she did so. “Someone’s a little crabby.”

You were about to launch yourself off the bed and throttle her when the door opened, knocking a lamp off the table that it crashed against with such a force.

“How come you aren’t harassing your own girlfriend instead of mine?” Venable asked, her voice stern and cold. Despite their close friendship, Coco froze in her presence like some poor deer that was about to get hit by an ice cream truck, her face was almost laughable.

“Sorry, Mina,” Coco said quickly. The billionaire flurried out of the room as quickly as she probably could, leaving you alone with Mina.

You could sense that she had not left, and when you lifted your head you realised you were correct. You moved to leave but a searing pain in your abdomen made you cry out in pain.

Your head fell between your knees, blood rushing as you pressed down to stifle the sharp pain.

"Is everything alright, my love?" Venable asked. There was a different tone in her voice when she spoke you, in comparison with the others. Her voice could probably almost be described as warm. Kind, even.

A long time ago, the late nights that you spent in the common room in the Office reading by the light of the fire were often shared by Venable's presence. Originally, you rarely spoke, and when you had it was mostly about you. Wilhelmina Venable was not much for informalities, and by the time you even sat on the same piece of furniture, fingertips barely touching, you were positive you knew more about her than anything other living person on Earth.

Not that there was supposed to be much competition at the time.

You shook your head, hand pressed hard on your stomach. "I'm sorry, Mina. My cramps are just really painful," you breathed. Your other hand gripped the bedsheets tightly.

You didn't see her smirk at that.

Wilhelmina walked over to the bed and sat closely beside you. Close enough that you could smell the fragrance of lavender and lemongrass which you had grown to love. As if it was some aphrodisiac it drew you even closer to her.

The redhead hesitated, before taking your hand in her own. Even now, while you had made it official, she was still hesitant with boundaries in the way she was as a young girl. She took your palm in one hand. "May I?" she asked, fingers poised over the space between your thumb and index finger. You nodded, watching her fingers flex slightly.

She squeezed the space hard, making you flinch. "Mrs. Madden used to do this for me when my cramps were bad as a teenager," she explained, eyes locked on your hands.

The pain eased, allowing some relief to rush into you. "Your foster mother?"

Venable nodded. Her eyes were soft. There was a certain calmness in them. Like a faded storm.

You straightened your back, happy that the pains were gone. “Thanks,” you say. You look at her, expecting her to lead you to the parlour, but she stayed still.

“I think we can stay here for a while,” she suggested, her eyes explored your features. “It’s not like those love birds will miss our company.” The redhead went silent, the side of her body pressed against yours. You found a strange comfort in her closeness. One which you hadn’t experienced in a long time.

You dared yourself to meet Venable’s gaze. Her brown eyes were soft in the light, features made more prominent in the shadow. She was exquisite. You saw her eyes dart to your lips for a second and return to your eyes. The butterflies in your stomach felt like they were performing the Waves of Tory.

The fact that Wilhemina still had the same powerful affect on you as she did the first day you lay eyes on her astounded you. No one had ever been able to hold such an influence over you before.

She brushed your hair from your face, carefully pushing it behind your ear and lent in. Her lips met yours in a warm embrace. You could feel her chuckle against you as she deepened it. She was so gentle, unlike her cold front. Her fingers intertwined with your own as she pulled your legs over her own. Such moments always came with such sweet bliss.

Until another wave of cramps came and caused you to pull away.

Mina frowned and leant back against her padded headboard, pulling you over. Your body fitted to hers perfectly and you curled into her; warm fingers slipping under your hand and resting themselves on your abdomen.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I know you feel like shit, but it’s only for a few days,” she whispered, slender fingers brushing through your hair and massaging your scalp.

You shook your head with a low moan. “I don’t know how you can stand me and my constant whining sometimes.”

Mina chuckled. “Well, you do whine and moan a lot, but it’s not always a bad thing,” she joked, hugging you close and giving you a kiss on the temple. She reached to the bedside table and pulled a bar of Hershey’s chocolate from the drawer. “I usually save this for bad period days. I think now is a perfect time for it.”

You take a square from the bar and pop it in your mouth, letting it melt on your tongue and basking in the sweetness. “No Kisses?” you joke. “You know they’re my favourite.”

Wilhemina rolled her eyes and accepted the kiss. The sound of her giggles when she kissed you never failed to warm your heart. You lay into her chest, the pain easing and a relaxing sleep slowly falling over you.

“Y/N?” she said after a few minutes of silence as you both neared the edge of sleep.

You grumbled in response, feeling her hand on the skin of your waist.

“I adore you.”

[bleu-moo]

Chapters: 10/? Fandom: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: wilhemina venable/reader, whilemina venable/you, wilhemina venable/female reader Characters: Wilhemina Venable, Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Character Study, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary:

When the world ends, books are your friends.

Chapter 10.

[january31st]

In Tune (Venable x reader): Chapter four

A/N: idk comrades, i have this story planned out since the beginning but i’m still losing grasp of it, it’s starting to escape me. This might not make any sense because nothing makes sense at the moment, reader discretion is advised. I’m not on drugs, my brain is the drug.

Just, here, have this nugget of nonsense, I was feeling guilty for not updating this.

Warnings: more daddy/mommy issues, leave me alone. Derealization a bit? sorta

|| Masterlist || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 ||

~1100 words

Of course nothing good could ever last. Not those few nights of sleep or the good mood that you were back on.

Because of the accusations she made you couldn’t help but feel paranoid about everything you did or said. If you were too nice to someone she would take it all wrong, you just couldn’t do that. And about not deserving things, what was the point she was trying to make really? Did she know you weren’t supposed to be there? That couldn’t be it, she would’ve killed you as soon as you stepped in there. Or maybe they didn’t do that because it would take away from the cooperative’s legitness, making a mistake like that. If you weren’t that busy panicking over all that you would have noticed that it was weird how she just knew you didn’t take her offer. Could she have been expecting you? Stayed up waiting for you? Or asked someone?

But then again, those were questions that skipped your mind.

Someone suggested to play truth or dare between the purples, only without the dares because there wasn’t really much you could do. So, in practise it was just a question game, getting to know each other a bit more, what was wrong with that? Everyone had to co-exist, so understanding who you had been before could only do good right? Yeah… trouble was that the person you were before wasn’t really a nice light topic of conversation.

“What did you want to be as a kid?” asked Dinah.

“I just always wanted to prove that I was capable of doing things on my own. Like, being successful on my own. I didn’t feel like my dad’s money should be just that, whatever it was that I was going to be, I wanted people to know that I was worth the things I owned” Coco said.

“Wow Coco, who would’ve thought? You finally said something that makes people sympathise with you.” André retorted, to which she only answered by making him a face.

“I wanted to be a hairdresser from the start. I know what I’m good at.” announced Mr. Gallant.

“Yes you sure did..” said Evie.

Everyone took their turns, Dinah said something inspirational, Timothy said something boring, Evie said something extra, and unfortunately, they didn’t forget to ask you as well. The smart thing to have done was just probably saying you wanted to be a model or an astronaut or a doctor, but of course, you said the truth and made it awfully awkward.

“I… I didn’t want to be anything really. I was terrified of the future, if I dared to dream then I would have to live with the disappointment of my failure. I never really thought I’d make it.”

“Yikes….. Okay things got kinda too deep.” Said Mr. Gallant before Dinah dismissed him and said “Oh but you did, didn’t you? We’re all here still! How wonderful is that? We have been that strong!”

“Well, since we’re on a depressing note already, might as well talk about all our dead loved ones” said Coco.

“Hah loved ones, that’s a funny one” you said.

“What do you mean?” said Timothy.

“Well… no loved ones to account for really”

“Are you serious? What, were you an orphan or something?” asked Coco.

“No, not really” a pause from everyone, expectant on you to go on. “So, my mum died when I was a kid. She was nice. The only nice thing I had really. Then my father was an absolute fucking asshole piece of shit who just kept hating on her for no reason, and he didn’t care about me either, kept me around for the child support money. I left that place as soon as I could. Then I didn’t care much about making friends really, too busy with other things.”

“Wow that was quite the life” Gallant mocked.

“But you’re always so jolly dear, how come?” asked Evie.

“And isn’t that the best cover for a ruined mind?” You answered.

From then on you were not only paranoid, but nostalgic as well. Realising how you had wasted your life away to how bad you felt about yourself. And the irony in that was how now you were wasting the last chance away as well. Every other passage in a book made you cry, everything everyone said was too much. You stopped hanging around the others when it wasn’t mandatory, no one would catch a glimpse of you except during meals and cocktails, and on those occasions you were spaced out for the most part, not really adding to any conversations or cracking dumb jokes anymore.

Your little concerts slowly stopped happening, you just pretended you didn’t see that keyboard anymore. Hell, at one point Coco even stopped commenting on you tired or down you looked, it was the new normal, and it was just uncomfortable to bring up anymore, even for her.

What you didn’t find out until later was that Venable was on the balcony to the music room during the game. Not that your life story would soften her, of course nothing ever could, but the outpost did become even more insufferable than usual after it.

The days had rolled on and on for a while, your nights melting into days, melting into nothing. Waking up tear stained yet again, no clue of what time it was supposed to be, you noticed a small purple leather book that hadn’t been on your table before.

You stumbled your way to it, wondering which of your steps would make it dissolve into the air. But none did. It was right there. And you recognized it. You dreamt with it every night. Or, was it a dream at all?

Or, wasn’t it all a dream?

No, you tried to rub the sleep from your face. You knew the book because it so often stood behind those brown eyes. Eyes that you couldn’t stand to look at, but had somehow been etched into your eyelids. Eyes that went from left to right, then right to left over the pages on your table.

You turned your back to it and went back to sleep, the only thing that made sense, if only for a couple minutes at a time. Your dreams swayed from one to the other with a berry liqueur flavour to them, some clear, some red as blood. And when you woke up there was the blueberry book still.

You opened it, praying answers would drop from it. Whatever God or Goddess you prayed to had been listening apparently, although not entirely. Were they answers? No, maybe it was just another bunch of questions really, but what dropped from the book was a handwritten note.

The offer still stands.

if you want to be added to a taglist for this series, feel free to reach out in whatever way you prefer :)

[january31st]

In tune (Venable x reader): Chapter three

A/N: apparently I changed things so that the Stu stew happened before you and Timmy got to the outpost? Lol. And they play cards for no reason other than I miss playing cards with my friends and winning every time

Warnings: Nosebleeds.

|| Masterlist || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 4 ||

~2000 words

The shock made you stand right up.

“Uh.. Good Morning Ms. Venable?” you said before feeling even more dizzy than before, roughly grabbing a chair to keep you steady.

“Good- Are-?” you alright was what she was probably going to say before she remembered who she was.

“Has something happened?” you asked, realising that her presence in your room could mean no good.

“I should be the one asking you that.” She said coldly, and with a lift of the eyebrow added “You’re bleeding”

“What?” you touched the back of your hand to your nose when you felt something hot there.

You turned away from her to go look for a towel, and then when it was firmly pressed to your face, you leaned against the bathroom door slightly, looking at her in question.

“I found this in the library” She said, turning the cover of a book toward you. “You might want to take a few notes and work on your terrible form. Also there’s a couple pieces.” Squinting at the book you made out the black and white of piano keys.

You stared at her for a bit, still in shock. A “Thank you” was all you could think of to say.

She left without adding anything else, and after a while, sitting on the floor again with the towel still pressed to your nose, you wondered if that could have just been your imagination.

Had she really come to your room before the wake-up call? You turned the book in your hands without really being able to read it.

Later on when a gray came to “wake you up” you had a glass of water and cleaned the dry blood off your face, and went to have breakfast with the others.

“Wow, you look even worse than usual Y/N” Coco exclaimed as you sat down with a grunt, already starting to feel sore from your workout.

“Thanks" you said with a fake smile.

Other than those incidents, the meals were the only times you ever stood close to Ms. Venable. Her presence had always made you uneasy, but recently you found it almost impossible to even look her way. It felt like the two of you shared a secret, one that your life depended on. Maybe it didn't really, but her authority on the outpost made it so you couldn't even mention her name when she wasn't around, too afraid that the walls themselves would tell her about your actions.

Right now as you stood a couple seats from her own, even though you didn't dare look at her, at times you swore you felt a laser burning into you, her gaze fixing itself upon you unapologetically.

You fucking bled in front of her. You with your supposedly perfect DNA, barely standing straight and bleeding. Was she going to question how you even got to the outpost? Surely she must have realised that you were never supposed to survive the apocalypse. Or was she going to ask what the hell you were doing? Could she think you were up to something shady?

You knew she hated your guts. How you stood out from the others, trying to be funny and nice. At least right now you hated yourself, your own cheeriness starting to annoy you. But then you broke the damn rules and after that she got the confirmation that you had to be an impostor. With your plate now empty, you stared at it. The bizarre spotlessness of a plate that had food in it making your insides turn, no bread crumbs, no grease from your bacon, nothing in it at all. It was only a matter of time before she ordered you to be killed surely. You survived the apocalypse to then be killed for doing so by accident, your existence as evident to whoever made it as the cube that hadn't stained your plate.

She had to hate you right?

But what was that book for? Why did she care to come to you? That was the detail that made the rest of it all blurry. It just didn't make any sense to you.

You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn't realise everyone was staring at you, and Timothy had his hand on your arm. You realised you were bleeding again. Nice, this time in front of everyone, so they all could witness that there really was something wrong with you.

"Oh my God are you dying Y/N?" Coco asked, as if you knew.

"Coco do you always have to be this insensitive?" said Dinah to your surprise, she didn't usually react to what Coco said.

"If I am, let's just hope it doesn’t take me too long so you don’t have to look at my ugly face anymore” you snapped back, getting to your feet before sarcastically excusing yourself from the table.

From the other side of the room you could still hear her say “Guys I know that the Stu incident was kinda traumatic but I wouldn’t mind having a bite of her." you speed walked to your room, electing to ignore her.

You got to your room, dirtied yet another towel with your blood and before you could sit down you heard Ms. Mead and The fist storming in.

Ms. Mead waved the radiation measuring device around you for a while before putting it away, an annoyed expression etched on her face, clearly disappointed that you hadn't set the thing off so she could punish you. Both of them got out of your room without saying a word to you.

"All clear." she said just outside your room, and she could only be talking to the boss herself.

Then you heard the shuffle of feet walking away, and the sound of her cane getting closer.

"If there is a matter of health you would like to tell me about, now is the time for it" she said, getting into your room for the second time that day.

"There isn't." you answered with a nasal voice. She made a disbelieving face at you and added "We have a stock of medicine in case someone were to need it" emphasising the someone.

"Well not that I would know, it's just a nosebleed, it'll go away."

If you didn't know better, you would say she looked concerned. The barely noticeable way she tapped her finger to the head of her cane, her jaw tense and eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. When she didn't move from her spot you said "I'm fine, I'm not radioactive and I'm not dying."

The mixture of your tiredness, annoyed state and general bad mood made you blurt what came after without thinking twice.

“And what would any of you assholes care if I died? Means more food for you, whatever way that might be.”

“Are you done Y/N?” she asked simply, her calmness even scarier than her usual anger, and the use of your first name throwing you off.

But this wasn’t actually a moment of quiet before the storm, because somehow there wasn’t one. Her chest was falling and rising with more effort than it was supposed to, and her eyes were fixed on you with the glow of an old fire, sad and tired.

“We don’t want you dead.” she paused, shielding her eyes again, taking a breath to hide the display she had just offered you.

Everything she said and did worked only to confuse you. Try as you might, there was no way of understanding her. She scared you to your bones and yet you couldn’t help but cling to the little spots where she let some niceness show through.

“I decided to workout before the book thing?” you admitted, trying not to say anything someone could overhear and twist up. “As I’ve said before, I’ve been having a hard time sleeping, so I thought that maybe if I got myself tired enough it would be easier? I might have pushed myself a bit too much, that’s why this happened.” you pointed at the towel you were holding with the other hand.

You were starting to regret your little rant before she said “If that is the case, then I suppose I could allow you to practise your technique on the piano, even after hours. If that’s something that could help.”

Was she actually being kinda nice? On every single one of your encounters you had made a fool of yourself, never knowing what to say to her, there was no reason she should be acting this understanding with you. You still didn’t know what to say this time, but with your eyebrows pushed together you fished for words.

“Are you serious?”

“If your little sleep deprived brain can’t understand what I’m saying or maybe you don’t want to, then by all means, don’t.”

“No no no, yes, I do want it, thank you I-”

“So that will be that.” She interrupted you, then tapped her cane, turned around and left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Seriously there's no way you're not cheating Y/N!" Said Mr. Gallant.

"She just knows her cards dear, you don't have to be a sore loser about it." Evie answered, the compliments from these people never failing to surprise you

"Look, I'm sorry that I've been the president for the last like ten rounds? And it's not on me that you have been the scum for half of it." you said, shuffling the cards and then giving them to André on your right to deal.

"Alright, how about we change the game to something else? Spades?" said Dinah.

You nodded before Gallant threw his head back and said "She'll win whatever game it is we play, she's like an old mafia dude who owns a chain of casinos. Not even worth it…."

And the bell rang for dinner, Ms. Venable holding it with her free hand. You didn't hear her coming in, so she probably stood in the room for a while, not getting the immediate attention she usually does because this time everyone was busy with the end of the game and laughing at Gallant's complaints.

Everyone went on to the dining room while you stood behind, putting the cards back in their box. You were making your way to the shelf where the cards were stored before Mallory stopped you “I’ll take care of those” then smiled at you, not before shooting a glance at the door.

“It’s like two steps away but sure, thank you sweetie.” you made your way out, stopping before Ms. Venable, who was blocking the way purposefully. She tapped her cane twice, a clear instruction apparently because you heard Mallory’s hurried footsteps up the spiral staircase and away, leaving the two of you alone again.

“I sincerely hope you haven’t forgotten the color you’re wearing Ms. Y/L/N, or your privileges. Or the house rules for that matter. The grays are only alive to work, but you aren’t. Please don’t spit into the golden plate that the Cooperative has so kindly placed in front of you.”

She then took another step closer, uncomfortably so and added: “And it also appears as though you either magically remembered how sleeping works, or you just, once again, took an offer you don’t deserve and did with it as you pleased.”

She knows. And you know she knows that you’re not supposed to be there. You felt your neck get hotter, and though the dizziness disappeared after that night and stayed gone over the past couple of days, it was starting to come right back. Only it wasn’t the same light headed feeling, this time it was your very soul spinning, distressed.

“I’ve actually slept… I- because I didn’t feel well, I guess, I just dozed off.”

She smiled that cynical smile of hers and with her face very close to yours she whispered “I am really hoping that your dozing off happened in your room and without company, because you know very well what happens otherwise. And wouldn’t that just be a shame? Hm, sweetie?”

Ten seconds ago you were scared of her, but her implications made you forget that as fast as you heard her say them. You took a step back so she could see your face.

“Are you serious? You saw me that morning! I could barely stand and you think I screwed someone?” you exhaled in frustration and kept eye contact.

She lifted her chin with a satisfied smile and with a tap of her cane said “Let us not be too late for dinner:”

if you want to be added to a taglist for this series, feel free to reach out in whatever way you prefer :)

[january31st]

I show up to the party just to leave (Venable x reader)

Summary: After a long time of not seeing each other, your brother invites you to his birthday party.

A/N: Title from Amoeba by Clairo. Her new album is like salt on an open wound, but in the softest way possible, and I love it :'). This has been in the drafts for a month and it was supposed to be a quick one to get me out of a slump :/ oops i guess (also i have no idea what this is or how we got here)

The reader doesn’t know about the whole selling their souls to the devil thing

Warnings: Drug addiction, overdose and hospital mentions. 

Masterlist

~1800 words

The brightness inside Kineros was somehow even worse than outside in the California heat. Its whiteness and clean, modern look took you by surprise, given that your brother’s room back home used to be a mountain of unwashed dishes and dirty clothes, his PC setup the only thing you could look at without getting a headache. 

“This.... is insane Jeff” you said as you took your sunglasses off, squinting very hard.

“I told you! I don’t know what’s so hard to believe about it. The whole multi-million company thing wasn’t convincing enough to make you believe this place is nice?” He said as he led you around to his office.

“Well, I’m just saying that coming from you I expected more of a nerd bunker than a sci-fi spaceship”

“Are your standards really that low Y/N?” he said with his hand on his chest, pretending to be deeply offended.

“Yeah, in the beginning you bragged for months about your Van”

“Oh but you can’t say that a company on the move isn’t cool”

“Sure” you said, shifting your attention to the woman in purple sitting behind the desk.

“Hi, you must be Ms.Venable! I’m Y/N, Jeff’s sister.” You said with your hand stretched out in front of you.

She looked from you to Jeff, and then at your hand, considering whether she should take it or not. Slowly, with the help of her cane, she stood up and shook it.

“And I hear you would be joining us to prepare for tomorrow, although I’ve told Mr. Pfister I have it handled.” She said, shooting your brother a menacing look, but you were too distracted by the feeling of her gloved hand still in yours. Had someone turned off the AC?

“I know Ms. Venable, I just had to show her the place before the party so she would believe it is nice. And by having her help get things ready she would know we didn’t mess things around to make it look better than it is” He said, and when you managed to shift your gaze away from her you noticed how Jeff looked. Someone finally taught him respect?

“If I had met Ms.Venable before, maybe I wouldn’t doubt how nice it is.”

“If you hadn’t left home for so long, maybe you would know more about the company”

“If you didn’t have so much blow up your nose all the time back then, maybe I wouldn’t feel the need to run away!” 

“Awww family reunions are so cute” You turned to the circle door on the left side of the room to see your brother’s work partner leaning against it and looking at you two with a pout.

“Oh… hey Mutt” 

“How is my favourite Pfister doing? I can’t believe how long it has been since I’ve seen you bro!” He said giving you a hug you did not expect.

“Hey! What the hell? Your favourite Pfister? Really? Stop flirting with my sister, asshole” said Jeff.

“I’m not! But it’s true, your sister is the best. Back then before we even dreamt of Kineros, the three of us would have so much fun!” Mutt answered, his arm still around your shoulders.

“Yeah I guess, before you two started your bullshit in between the lines” you said, scratching at your nose.

“Oh, speaking of flirting, how is that girlfriend of yours doing?” Jeff asked.

“Girlfriend? What… Ah. Yeah, well- she..” You laughed “ I swear I can’t make this shit up. Has it been that long since we spoke really?” The topic was making you even more uncomfortable, and you noticed that Ms. Venable was looking at you with an almost curious look? Was it? She was hard to read.

“Well, would you believe it, she fell in love with your dear coke instead.” Jeff looked at you as if he had just broken your favourite toy.

“Yea she just dumped me a while back and hit the streets. I tried to look for her, but she was just gone. I have no clue if she’s even alive.”

“Shit Y/N I’m sorry” Jeff said.

“Are you? Or are you still sniffing lines like a mad man?” 

“Technically not lines no.” He said, smiling at Mutt knowingly.

You took his arm from your shoulders. “So you’re telling me that if I punch your ass right now it wouldn’t be snowing in here?”

When he didn’t answer with anything other than laughter you went on “It’s not funny! None of this is funny Jeff! Not now, and not that time I had to take your ODing ass to the ER! And not on all those times you were in withdrawal!”

He only laughed more, and said “It would be hell if that happened again!”

“Jeff! Have you-”

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but the last of the decorations for tomorrow are just arriving.” said Ms. Venable. And despite her low voice, all three of you went silent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You worry too much”

“What?” You asked through the pen you were chewing at, with your back still turned to her from the top of the chair, as you exchanged the regular lightbulb with a colorful one from the box you were holding.

She didn’t repeat herself for a while, as if she regretted saying anything in the first place. The past hour or so you had barely exchanged more than a couple words, her impassive looks making you assume she just didn’t like you.

“You worry too much about him.” She said, her voice loud and clear this time.

You stepped down from the chair placing the white bulb on the box she was holding with one hand. Thinking about your brother now made something clench on your stomach. To hide how hard it was to find an answer for her, you went to write a check on the lighting part of your to-do list.

“How could I not?” You asked.

“I must admit his lifestyle is… interesting. But it seems to have worked to bring this company to where it is today.” She said.

“I know he’s your boss, but you don’t have to doll-up how things are around here. And don’t give him more credit than he deserves, he is cocky enough about it.” after a pause you added “I know that if it were up to him, he would still be assembling robots amidst his dirty socks. It doesn’t take much to realise who’s behind everything that isn’t necessarily robots here.”

You reached for the box she was holding to go put it away, and noticed she was standing as still as a statue. Grabbing it from her with the ghost of a friendly smile on your face you went on, since she didn’t seem to know how to answer you this time.

“He used to say it helped him think and work better. And maybe it does but as his sister I can’t just ignore it and pretend I’m okay with it. He never takes things that matter seriously.”

“Before we got here I- for some stupid reason- actually thought he stopped it. He isn’t like he was before. Something has changed about him.”

“It has.” She said. “I think his dedication to the job put him in his tracks somewhat. Whatever his tracks are” She added with a smirk.

Giggling at that, you said, holding the checklist for her to see “Now that we´re done, how about we go get a snack and talk about something that doesn’t involve dumb and dumber or their tragic hairstyles?”

Fighting back a smile, she guided you somewhere you could eat, and said “I’m glad you don’t have a bowl cut too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the first hour or so Jeff introduced you to random people at the party, none of them getting much of your attention at all. Fancy and famous people, and though it was hard to believe seeing your brother around them- their nice suits next to his striped shirt, jeans and hoodie- you didn’t feel astonished at all. You felt crushed by everyone around you and took every opportunity to avoid dull conversation.

Some of them were surprised to meet you, to see how his casualty wasn’t a trait you shared, and given that you knew this would be a somewhat big party you did, in fact, dress up to the occasion. You decided to wear a nice blazer over a silk lingerie type shirt, straight legged pants and heels, hair slicked back and makeup dark and bold. Anywhere else you would look out of place, but here you managed to melt into the rest of the well dressed crowd. Thankfully that worked to your advantage so you could be away from the center of attention.

On the quick calls you did have, your brother never failed to gloat about his life and how great things were, and a part of you hoped blindlessly that it would mean he left his bad habits behind. Though now as you stood under the coloured lights it was more than obvious that he wouldn’t change, and all the bad memories from his addiction came back to you at once. Overwhelmed by your thoughts and the ambient itself, you made your way to the outside of the building unaware of the tic-toc of a cane following you.

“Where are you going?” her voice pulled you back to reality.

“I don’t know. Just away from this” you said, hand waving in the air. Then you took a second to look at her, as formally dressed as the day before, lilac suit and all, only her expression had changed. Though you knew she would never admit it, her face was contorted in a plea, almost begging for you to stay.

“I thought he changed. I really did. Like a foolish fucking child.”You blurted out.

“You don’t have to leave like this.” She stated, sounding disinterested despite herself.

“I do. I really do.”

“I never come to these events… I hate these people just as much as you do.” You narrowed your eyes at her, waiting for the rest of it, and when it didn’t come you asked “What made you come this time?”

After a long pause she said “I was surprised to meet you. I would never believe your brother had someone as… prudent and sensible in his life.” Another pause. “I’m trying to say don’t leave m-” She stopped herself.

“Then take me somewhere” You said without thinking, looking straight into those brown eyes as they seemed to soften. And for the first time her face twisted into what was definitely, unmistakably, a smile, and all you could do was smile right back.

“Come along then”

[january31st]

In tune (Venable x reader): Chapter two

A/N:finally got my first dose of the vaccine today! :D

lmao I'm sorry if that first chapter kinda threw you off, i don't really like it 

This one is a bit shorter than i’d like but it’s more interesting

Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol and nicotine use, also being unconscious? and insomnia. Feeling nauseous and dizzy after exercising. Also also daddy/mommy issues bc I'm writing this so ofc there's that

~1400 words

|| Masterlist || Chapter 1 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 ||

After a while the purples naturally expected your daily performance, and even suggested songs and sang along. You got into the habit of going to the music room when everyone was busy elsewhere to remember chords to songs and practise, and the mood did seem to lighten up. But despite that, every now and then Ms. Venable would look bitterly at the piano, and a feeling of uneasiness would settle within you. How long would it last until she ordered for the damn piano to be destroyed? Or maybe she would just throw you out of the outpost and feed you to the monsters?

Her coldness toward you sure worked at keeping you down, not that anyone would know. Despite being the one always coming up with jokes and ways to make everyone get into friendly conversation, there was that constant sadness. Every minute you spent alone in your room was a minute you spent thinking about the past and all the things that went wrong in your life. The memories from your parents always came up, before you ran away from living with your dad in search for a life you would enjoy. You hated him. You couldn’t help not to.

Every time you said 'thank you" a heavy silence would fill the room. As if the words 'you're welcome' would burn a hole through his mouth. All you ever wanted was reassurance, to feel heard and to know there was someone to lean onto. But that hadn't been the case, not then, and it wouldn't be any different after the world collapsed.

At night you would let the tears take away the weight on your soul. You would remember when you were a child, crying in your mom's arms because of your scraped knees, and wish she had never let go and walked away. Some nights you questioned the Gods on their decision to take her when they could have just taken you, of cursing the earth with your broken form, where hers was light, and sweet, and kind and perfect.

You couldn't help but feel like a thief, sitting in bed holding within you something as wonderful as life itself. As you skimmed through your dusty cabinet of feelings, you could find nothing but guilt. And the thought of it made you feel even more guilty. Until there was just guilt everywhere again. It was all too familiar by now. On the inside of your pillows there was guilt. On the table by those poetry books, hidden in the corners but always in plain sight there was guilt. On each thread of each garment you wore, there was guilt. Guilt in the sky. Guilt in the sea. Guilt in the perfume of flowers and in the taste of fruit.

Nothing you ever tried would make it go away. Not the nicotine or the alcohol. Not the sleepless nights or the unconscious days. And every time you sank lower into it you wondered if the warmth of someone holding you would. Just the same way your mother's embrace would make the pain go away.

The end of the world brought a numbness with it at first, but it gradually receded to the guilty conscience and with that came your inability to sleep.

It was one of the unspoken rules to not be out of bed at night, because someone could assume you were sneaking to be with someone breaking the actual copulating rule, and also because everyone had to be on time for breakfast.

Still, after a couple of days of waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night or not being able to fall asleep at all, you decided to try and walk around the outpost to see if you could find sleep hidden in some corner somewhere.

The eeriness of the place was actually comforting. The silence and the soft shadows that the candle in your hand casted for some reason did work at calming you down, and after a few days it was your new “bad” habit.

That was of course until that night.

At some point in the night you found yourself in the corridor that led to the music room, staring at the door. It had the tiniest crack open, and through it you could see candlelight. 

At first you just assumed someone forgot to put the candles out, but as you came up to the door you realised someone was still up. And that someone was playing the piano? You opened the door a tiny bit wider to peek inside. Yes, someone was playing. That someone was playing what you recognised to be the third movement from Moonlight sonata, and was playing it perfectly. It sounded furious. And passionate. It was like every note was rippling through your very bones, you could almost feel yourself vibrating along with its anger. You simply couldn’t turn away from it, the melody wrapped itself around you and you could not budge even if you wanted to.

That someone, funnily enough, was none other than Ms. Venable herself. Once you realised it was her it was already too late to think about running back to your room. As the last chord rang she looked straight into your eyes, a look so unbearably cold that it burned.

Her hands floated away from the keys and toward her cane, and with its help she turned around fully and stood up. She stood her ground, and after a second or two she tapped her cane.

That was when you realised you were holding your breath and your mouth was open. You blinked a couple times in disbelief as you struggled for words.

“That was… it was beautiful” Seemed to be all you could get out.

She made her way toward you slowly, but you could tell how angry she was by the deafening tic her cane produced with each step. “What on earth are you doing up?” She said punctuating each word.

“I-” She grabbed your chin forcefully, making it impossible to look away from her.

“I couldn’t sleep” You managed to whisper

She narrowed her eyes at you and said “Make this the first and last time I find you outside your suite after hours without permission.”

You nodded stiffly before she let go of your face, and as you turned around to leave you bid her goodnight. Madness? Was that the thing running in your veins? She elected to ignore you and with that you slipped off back to your room, the grooves of her fingerless leather gloves still imprinted onto your skin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Miss girl, you have to drop by my room one of these days so I can lend you some concealer! Those eyebags are offensive to be honest." Coco said while sitting across from you at the dinner table, Mr. Gallant nodding in agreement.

"Sure thing Coco" 

Up until that night you managed to sleep a few hours per night, but after it, things got even worse than before. Three days had passed and you doubted you had slept as many hours.

Since googling how to sleep wasn’t an option anymore, you tried remembering on your own the sort of thing some health wellness website would advise. Drinking water: you did drink water? That one is always the solution they give. Eating a healthy,varied and balanced diet: yes of course. Your jelly mystery cubes surely gave you a wide range of options. Meditating: you tried a couple times, but on your own all you managed to do was sit cross legged for hours trying to fight off the thoughts. Working out? The last resort.

Running around the outpost didn’t seem like a very good idea, so you just stayed in your room doing push-ups, squats, sit-ups and lifting books in your pajamas one early morning before breakfast.

But considering the aforementioned nutrition situation, it wasn’t surprising how after almost an hour of repeating those exercises you felt dizzy and nauseous. You were sat down on the floor, back against your bed and head resting on your hands, which in turn rested on your bent knees, trying very hard to not pass out, when you heard a knock on the door.

You assumed it was a gray coming to help you get ready for breakfast, even though it felt too early for that, and lifting your gaze toward the door you mumbled “Come in, it’s open.”

To your surprise, the person who pushed the door open wasn’t dressed in gray, but in black, cane ticking in announcement of her arrival. 

if you want to be added to a taglist for this series, feel free to reach out in whatever way you prefer :)

[freyas-wife]

Me: Why are piggy banks so wise

Cordelia: There full of common cents

Me:*oh my god I love this woman-*

Whilemina: I'm gonna kill both of you-

Ally: What did the evil chicken lay

Cordelia: Deviled eggs

Whilemina:.......god spare me please..

[freyas-wife]

Ally: She needs to learn some morals and values!Whilemina:*points to me* Look at her and tell me there's a god!

Me:*on the ceiling* He made me in his own image.

[bleu-moo]

Chapters: 9/? Fandom: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: wilhemina venable/reader, whilemina venable/you, wilhemina venable/female reader Characters: Wilhemina Venable, Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Character Study, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary:

When the world ends, books are your friends.

Chapter 9, oh so fine. 

[bleu-moo]

Chapters: 8/? Fandom: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: wilhemina venable/reader, whilemina venable/you, wilhemina venable/female reader Characters: Wilhemina Venable, Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Character Study, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary:

When the world ends, books are your friends.

Chapter 8 is up.

[bleu-moo]

Chapters: 7/? Fandom: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: wilhemina venable/reader, whilemina venable/you, wilhemina venable/female reader Characters: Wilhemina Venable, Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Character Study, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary:

When the world ends, books are your friends.

Chapter 7 posted.